


A Stranger's Heart Without A Home

by gooddaysunshine



Series: Colorado Fix-It [1]
Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, i really just wanted them to be happy in a canon compliant-ish universe, just a little bit really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooddaysunshine/pseuds/gooddaysunshine
Summary: The helicopter wasn't being piloted by Zoey, and Paul and Emma make it to Clivesdale. Then eventually, those two people, now known as Ben and Kelly, set up shop in their new Colorado home, but they are just two strangers thrown into a home together. Two people who don't really know each other at all. Even after living together a whole year, they still are like ships passing in the night. However, the blizzard of the decade and some booze has Emma... or, Kelly hopeful to break through the ice.Just a short little ficlet thinking about how everything could have been different had the events of TGWDLM went slightly off course from canon.title taken from Fade Into You by Mazzy Star
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Series: Colorado Fix-It [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840777
Comments: 151
Kudos: 92





	1. A Rudimentary Study On the Habits of Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back back back back back again, friends.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this little thing. It's going to be much shorter than the other things I've written on here, but I've just been thinking a lot about if they made it out to Colorado.
> 
> (Also big thanks to tutselutse for being an A+ hypeman for this and the other work that's going on!!! You rock, my sweet lil pal across the pond!)

The Hatchetfield disaster felt like eons ago. Blue blood had stained the streets. Musical jingles could be heard around every corner. No music to accompany it. Just creepy crooning buried somewhere in the shadows, waiting to strike. Humming masses of guts and alien goop took on the shapes of family and friends. As the sun set that day and night crawled over the horizon over the island city, everything smelled like sweat and death. If the helicopter hadn’t come when it did, they would have still been stuck there with the husks of people they once knew. They would have had no choice but to join them, and then god only knows what could have happened. As they rose into the air, Emma had leaned out of the door and cursed the city. Somewhere off by the mall, she could see flames engulfing trees.  _ “Emma, seatbelt. It’s a little bumpy.” _

She liked Colorado a lot better than she had liked Hatchetfield. Or Guatemala even. Well, maybe it was just different from Guatemala. It got cold as balls in the winter, and she had never seen more snow than she did that first January living there. The house P.E.I.P. had set up for them was just outside of Boulder, which she learned had an average of about seventy-one inches of snow per year while the average for the entire country bowed out at twenty-eight. She sat on the plush couch and stared out through the sliding glass door in the back. Sleep hadn’t come easy after everything that happened. Out into the night. Dark and quiet. A vast plot of land. All hidden beneath a flood of white. The couch had dipped next to her.  _ “You can’t sleep either, huh?” _

That was what made things… complicated. Well,  _ that _ wasn’t a very accurate term to use.  _ He _ made things difficult. Paul. Or a Mister Ben Bridges, as he had been dubbed. Ben Bridges and Kelly King owned a beautiful four bedroom home on five acre property. She was fairly certain P.E.I.P. was trying to bribe them into not talking. Not that they could tell anyone. They barely talked about it themselves. Ben and Kelly slept in bedrooms down the hall from each other. Ben and Kelly would watch reruns of  _ the Simpsons _ and  _ Seinfeld _ on opposite sides of the couch. Ben and Kelly drank tea instead of coffee in the morning. Some days, it was really like they were really those brand new people. Two people who didn't even know each other. Just a set of ships passing in the night.  _ "I'm heading off to bed. Um, goodnight, I guess." _

Paul and Emma had nearly kissed before he left with Bill to rescue Alice. Paul and Emma had reached for each other during every moment of danger. Paul and Emma had stolen glances at one another the entire thirty-nine hours they had really known each other. Paul and Emma had scooted closer to each other as she spilled her guts to a particularly attentive companion. Paul and Emma, however, also died in the Hatchetfield catastrophe. There were no survivors after the gas leak killed every man, woman, and child inhabiting the island. Paul and Emma were merely a story left with an infinitely hanging ellipsis.  _ "Well, I just thought… nevermind. It's stupid." _

Just like that, their second winter in Colorado was upon them. It was strange how time could pass at a snail's pace and in the blink of an eye simultaneously. Sometimes she would watch him sit outside with a book. Illuminated in the sun. Squinting down at the pages through the glasses he grew to wear more often than his contacts. He was different than the man she knew for just a couple of short days. Than the one who she tried to bait into uncomfortable awkward flirting the day before the end of the world. Than the one who confidently assured her he wouldn't succumb to the aliens' whims and delayed their classic movie moment. No, this was the same person, who, while exhausted beyond belief, managed to spit out an offkey rendition of the first few bars of  _ Don't Stop Believin' _ upon being greeted by the barrels of rifles in Clivesdale. That sat on a worn out cot in a set of grey sweats that matched her own and told her about what happened at the high school, eyes downturned and sad. That sighed heavily when given his new ID, birth certificate, social security card, and passport. A new name. A new life. A new start. No more black coffee guy or crabby Beanies barista.

It was their second winter in Colorado. They had been there a little over a year, yet she felt like she didn't know him at all. Not really at least. She knew he ate a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and canned chicken noodle soup. If he was feeling adventurous, it would be a can of chicken and rice soup or strawberry jelly instead of grape. Always chunky peanut butter for the sandwich and a thick slice of sourdough bread to go with the soup. Every night he spent a solid five minutes flossing his teeth. Meticulous and thorough. He was even particular about the brand of floss. Crest Glide Deep Clean. Two minutes brushing his teeth. Colgate Optic White. Act Anticavity mouthwash to finish up. Swished for sixty seconds. Then spat out. No eating or drinking for up to thirty minutes after. There were many times she found herself woken up in the middle of the night, a faint light glimmering from his bedroom across the hall. She peeked into his bedroom just for a moment, usually to find his head in his hands, mumbling something to himself. Then, she would always retreat back to bed and pretend like nothing ever happened. They had lived together for a little over a year. A full lap around the sun. And, she still felt like she didn’t know him.

This was their second winter in Colorado, and she found herself picking up another package of floss and several cans of various chicken soups as she moseyed through the store. A loaf of fresh sourdough bread. Various other things. Gallons of water in case the power went out. Extra batteries. A regular loaf of bread--honey wheat, for her. Some chicken breast. Ground turkey. A particularly appealing chunk of chuck steak. All the produce they would normally use throughout a week. Or wouldn’t. Sometimes he would go in and brave the horrendously stinky fridge to find out what exactly was making that smell. Plus, there was always room for booze in her shopping cart. Especially when, allegedly, the worst blizzard of the decade was headed for them. Red wine. A handle of tequila, vodka, and white rum. A case of Heineken for the gentleman. There was no way she was allowing another snowstorm to go by where they spent it sober. She would crack him one way or another.

The two car garage was another perk she never really appreciated until she was hauling things from her car to the house in the winter. Balancing one paper bag in her arm, she pushed the door from the garage to the kitchen open. “Sweet baby Jesus,” she grumbled. She straightened herself to step through the threshold. He was there, staring at her, as he leaned over the counter with his phone in his hand. “You’d think everyone and their fucking mother is making… french fucking toast or something. I had to sell my left kidney for a carton of eggs and a quart of milk.”

His eyes widened. God, after a year of dealing with her shit, she would have thought he would have gotten the hyperbolic jokes at this point. “I’m sorry?” he responded, clearly unsure of what else to say to her. He closed the space between them and hovered by her. Again, unsure of if he should help her with the bags in her hands or not. “Do you… did you need--”

“I’ve got these ones, but there’s plenty more in the back,” she told him, nodding towards the door behind her. Their eyes caught. It was a glasses day for him. Thick-rimmed. They reminded her of something she would have seen some jerk in a Beanie with a sticker covered MacBook wearing. But she liked them on him. She wondered what would have happened if she chose a different day to ask him what his name was. Earlier. He had been coming into Beanies for forever. Probably longer than when she first noticed him. Maybe he would have taken her out to dinner but only after stupidly asking if she wanted to get coffee first. Maybe they would have hit up the old Hatchetfield drive-in movie theater, and she would have made a move on him that ended with them clambering into the backseat of his car. Maybe he would tell her that he loved her. Maybe she loved him too. 

But those were just a bunch of maybes. All hypothetical. Fiction. She never did ask him what his name was until the day before the apocalypse. Emma Perkins and Paul Matthews never dated. Emma Perkins and Paul Matthews didn’t get a love story. Emma Perkins and Paul Matthews died October 21st of 2018 along with the rest of the inhabitants of Hatchetfield. 

She unloaded the bags she brought in from the car, unloading produce and dairy products onto the kitchen counter. It was a kitchen she had always dreamed of. Sizable. Plenty of counter space. A refrigerator with a drawer for a freezer. A deep sink with two basins. She placed a couple of apples and oranges into a bowl that sat on the counter. The loaves of bread she had sold her soul to the devil for went beside them. As she moved to grab more groceries to put away, she heard the garage door squeak open again. “Holy shit,” she laughed lightly. He stood in the doorway with two bags in either arm and the box of booze in his hands. “One trip wonder over here. Goddamn, Paul. Color me fucking impressed.”

He struggled over to the counter where he dropped the box before emptying the bags on either side of it. “Yeah, thanks,” he huffed while examining the red indentations the bags had left on his forearms. “I’m multi-talented.”

Leaning onto the counter beside her, she smirked, taking an opportunity to pounce. Kelly wouldn’t have pushed forward on Ben. At least, she didn’t think she would. But Emma, who continually thought about what could have happened, was ready to give him as much shit as she possibly could. “Oh yeah?” she pressed on, eyebrow arched. “Pray tell, what are the other talents?”

His face flushed red, as she knew it would. “Um,” he muttered, eyebrows raising, eyes hitting the floor. “I can… play the recorder?” What an answer. Kelly would have felt bad for teasing Ben. 

Emma, on the other hand, felt a giddy feeling in her stomach rising at the change of pace from the boring polite conversation they tomorally had. “Really?” she mused.

“Um… yeah?”

“The recorder?”

“Yeah… yes.”

“Not literally  _ anything  _ else?”

The discomfort was evident in his face. He twisted to pull some items out of bags, taking the time to walk individual pieces over to the fridge. His face seemed to get redder with each item as she watched him. Carrots. Ground turkey. Frozen pizza. Ice cream. She watched him glance up periodically to see if she was still watching him. Stopping at the cardboard box, the brows on his pink face furrowed. “That’s a lot of liquor,” he commented, probably in a desperate attempt to change the subject from his embarrassing attempt at a comeback.

“Oh yeah, that was on purpose,” she commented. From the bag beside her, she pulled out a bag of pretzels, opening the plastic to retrieve one of the salty snacks. “We’re not spending another fucking blizzard sober.”

A hand ran over his face as he if were trying to brush the wildfire blush off of his face. “I don’t know if that’s such--”

“Why not?” she challenged, crunching down on a pretzel. “You have a big board meeting to go to in the morning or something?”

“No,” he sighed. His fingers drummed against the cardboard. “I just don’t really do this.”

“C’mon, Paul. Live a little!” she jeered.

He looked over to her. His face held a frown, but she swore she could almost see a smile lingering in his big blue eyes. “I just don’t drink like this… like ever,” he explained, gesturing to the liquor. “It’s not really something I’ve ever done.”

“Well,  _ maybe _ Paul doesn’t,” she agreed as she walked over to him, pulling a Heineken out of its container, still cold from the fridge it had been in at the store. She held it out to him. “But I’ve heard that Benjamin Bridges can go toe-to-toe with an old pro like Kelly King in a good old fashioned drinking night.”

Staring down at the beer before him, he considered her reasoning. His brows were still furrowed. Full lips pursed in thought. She had to admit that they were the topic of her own thoughts more often than they should have been. There was a boyish charm about him. Like someone she would have known in high school, only to realize later that she was completely in love with him the whole time. Though, she hadn’t known him before a year ago. Despite growing up across town from each other their whole lives. She had never been in love with him. To be fair, she never really got the chance to be. He took the beer from her, stirring her from her thoughts. “Okay,” he agreed before pointing down at her. “But Ben gets the hangover too.”

“Hell yeah!” she cheered while she pulled out the handle of vodka. “You and me tonight, roomie! Finally spending some quality time together.” They turn toward each other at the same time. Paul to grab the bottle opener on the counter beyond her. Emma to get a glass from the cabinet behind him. They stood like that for a moment. Chest-to-chest. Staring at one another. His face glowed a brighter red. She didn’t even think that had been possible. In his defense, though, she might have also flushed red though it was likely much less noticeable than his pink-tinged skin. For a split second, she thought he might lean down and kiss her. She was fairly certain he had the same thought. But they didn’t. There was no kiss once again. She cleared her throat. “You like vodka or rum?”

He blinked down at her. “Uh, rum, I guess,” he decided.

She patted his chest, reaching into the box for the handle of rum. “Alright, good news for you,” she chirped in an attempt to bring it back to the drinking at hand. “Kelly here is a self-taught bartender?”

“Are you sure it’s Kelly and not Emma?”

Her eyes flicked up at him and caught a rare moment of teasing back at her. A teasing smirk was perched upon his lips. Eyebrows were raised in curiosity. He hadn’t even had a sip of liquor yet. Was this… progress before she even had the chance to dig into him? “Eh,” she responded, shrugging her shoulders. “They’ve been bleeding together a little lately.”

“Well, Ben… um, he’s hoping, um,” he stammered, all of the confidence had been wasted on his single bit of shit he had given her. Her own eyebrow arched, a grin sneaking to her face. “Ben’s hoping to drink with Emma tonight.”

That wasn’t what she had expected, and for a second, she was worried she wouldn’t be able to get a comeback out. This was the most Paul she had gotten since sitting in Hidgens’s panic room basement. Stealing glances at each other. Talking about their lives like they were on month four of dating. Spilling their guts. She blinked twice to pull herself out of the strange trace she was in, but the smile that had found itself gracing her features. “I think that’s a manageable request,” she said, voice soft. Emotions softer.

It was going to be a long night.


	2. A Bizarre Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our dynamic duo busts out the booze and gets talking about various topics. Some heavier than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I'm so excited that y'all are so excited for this!!!! I'll respond to comments in the morning I think, but thank you so much for you're support. It means the world :3

Emma’s goal was to get Paul drunk, so she did just that. The catch was she wasn’t supposed to pace him with the drinks, yet here she was, sitting beside him laughing her ass off after draining her fifth drink. He sat in the easy chair next to the couch and leaned his head back, groaning. The lights were turned down dim enough that the room was comfortable and dark but up enough that they could still see each other. She was still able to tell there was a grin across his face she had never seen before. How his eyes creased in the corners whenever he laughed. That he squinted when he was thinking really hard about something. Her entire body felt warm as she watched him, laughter beginning to fade. This was the same person she had seen nearly everyday for the past two years. He came into Beanies so frequently it was a wonder she never knew his name. She couldn’t even remember scrawling it on a paper cup once. Just the hopeless awe-filled gaze he gave her each time she handed his shitty coffee off to him. For just a second, she wondered if Ben would have made a move or if Kelly would have had to take the first step as well. 

“C’mon, man,” she chided, perching herself on the arm of the couch. “You’ve gotta answer. That’s the rules.” Her head felt like it was spinning. Fuzzy and warm. It had been a long time since she indulged like this. Christ, she couldn’t remember the last time she really drank more than one drink, be it a beer, cocktail, or glass of wine. Prior to the meteor hitting, all she really did was go to work and then go to school or the reverse. By the time she crawled home to her crummy apartment, she was too exhausted to even think about drinking. Things were different then. She didn’t think she would have been living out in Colorado a year and a half ago, but there she was with the doofy nervous black coffee guy in a house that was theirs. Well, technically, the house belonged to some secret _Men In Black_ type subsect of the government. Regardless, they were there living together, giggling and gabbing over some sort of cocktail made with iced tea, rum, and seltzer. But mostly rum.

 _“That’s_ the rules?” he spat out with a laugh himself. “Emma Perkins: grammar wiz!” _This_ was what she had been missing. The interaction. The teasing she had really thought was in there despite all the time they spent skirting around each other. Polite dinner conversation. Occasional joking. Really just a couple of strangers. It was like living with a college roommate for the first few weeks. In close proximity but they didn’t really know each other. Even if they had shared such a life-changing experience together. Hell, they had to start a whole new life side-by-side. The least they could do was have a little fun.

“Listen, bub.” He burst into another fit of laughter. She found herself smiling despite herself. The joke was at her expense for once. It wasn’t normally like that. Most of the time, she would be the one with the zingers. One-liners that would jab at someone just enough to be mildly offensive, but they were usually harmless enough that everyone could laugh at them. This time, though, she was boo-boo the fool. _“Emma_ is a poet and a fucking scholar. Kelly flunked out of the eighth grade.”

His eyebrows raised in amusement before he took another sip of his drink. “You’re giving Kelly some backstory now, huh?” he joked. “Nice that she’s becoming a three dimensional character here. Getting some real depth. I think I wanna know more about eighth grade, though.”

Balancing precariously on the arm of the couch, she leaned forward toward him. A bemused smirk sat on his face. She narrowed her eyes. “Paul,” she said, straight. No sound of joking in her tone.

“Emma.”

“This is only the single most important question you’ve ever been asked.”

“And you’ve waited this long to get me drunk enough to ask it?”

“Paul,” she groaned, flopping back onto the couch. “It’s fucking ice cream! I just wanna know what your favorite and least favorite goddamn flavors are? This is very important if this partnership is gonna work!” The words left her mouth before she could think about their weight. Suddenly, the air in the room was thick. Tense. She wondered if after being around her for a year straight had made this previously moonstruck boy feel differently. The back of her hand pressed against her forehead. A welcome cool sensation. “Y’know… since we’re stuck together in this… shit. I don’t know.” There was another beat of silence. In that moment, she felt like he did all those times he stood in front of her red and sweaty. Unsure of what to say next. Like the next set of words to leave her mouth would ultimately be the wrong one. “Just… fucking ignore me. I’m drunk.”

He hummed in response. “Me, too,” he agreed. Without looking up, she could hear the ice clatter around in his glass as he took another drink. Her entire mouth felt like rum-soaked cotton, heart pounding in her chest. “You ever think about how weird this is?”

It was her turn to hum, noncommittal in a way. Her life had always been strange. Nothing normal ever happened. She up and ran away from home the second she could. She spent an entire fucking decade backpacking across Guatemala. She returned to her hometown in some feeble attempt to get to know her dead sister’s son and decided to study botany, so she could start a fucking pot farm while she was at it. Everything about her life was less than normal. In fact, the time in Colorado had been the most stable and average her life had ever been. There was no worry about if she would make rent or if she just wouldn’t get groceries for a couple of weeks. There was no Nora. No Zoey. No weird biology assignments from Hidgens. No, it was a stable life. She lived in a house and had a reliable car. She didn’t worry about going hungry or being evicted. Some days, she would even sit out in the backyard and sketch out silly little drawings while she let the grass tickle her skin.

“It’s a little weird, yeah,” she concurred. She thought about getting up to look at him, but her head felt so heavy. Like it was filled with a gallon of sand. “I don’t know. I think… I mean, after all the shit that went down, I think this was a pretty okay outcome.” He didn’t respond right away. Time to back-peddle! “Don’t get me wrong. I wish we could have fucking saved the day and everyone could have stopped… with all that, but all things considered, this is okay. I’m… um, glad you got out with me.”

There was a small chuckle. Laced with something she couldn’t quite define. Maybe disbelief. “Really?” he questioned. The chuckle dissipated into another thick silence. Tense once again. Sad even. “I dunno. I kinda wish I didn’t make it out.” His voice was barely a whisper. She tilted her head just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. He leaned his head back once again to stare at the ceiling, blinking furiously behind his glasses. “Sometimes it feels like it was a mistake. Like… shit, I was just some guy working in an office, who could… I don’t fucking know. Run really fast? There were so many other people who should have made it off that island instead of me, but… it’s done now. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

The room felt cold. She wondered if it was snowing outside yet. Her vision was too blurry to fully tell if it was or not. Maybe the temperature hadn’t changed in the room, though. Snow or not. She looked back to him. His free hand was resting across his eyes, index finger and thumb pressing against his eyelids. “Well, technically you didn’t,” she offered. He rolled his neck to the side to look at her. His expression was unreadable in the dark. “Yeah, Paul died in Hatchetfield. You’re just some fuckin dude named Ben, man.” A soft laugh left his throat as he looked back up at the ceiling. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you did.”

Another snort left him. “Fucking figures,” he muttered. “Literally, the entire world has to fucking end for this to happen.”

“For what to happen?”

“Are you kidding? I had this big stupid--”

“I’m just fucking with you, Paul.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, come on. You think you were all fucking slick and shit. Coming into fucking _Beanies_ everyday? Don’t tell me it was for our shitty coffee.”

“I liked the coffee,” he argued, half-heartedly.

“Yeah, and I’m the queen of fucking France.” A genuine laugh out of him this time around. “We used to spit in that coffee, y’know? Me and Zoey. We didn’t like each other, but fucking hated everyone else way more. People are assholes to retail workers, so most of them deserved it.” She rolled her head back to stare at the ceiling herself, a lazy grin on her lips. “You probably drank my spit.”

“Gross… that’s like so many health code violations.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you didn’t want my fucking tongue down your throat anyway.”

“You’re… very _forward_ tonight.”

“Yeah, well, Paul, I’ve been drinking heavily tonight if you couldn’t fucking tell.”

“I would’ve taken you on a date first obviously,” he explained, voice growing tight and flustered. She could feel the smile growing wider on her lips. Like she had finally melted down some of the iceberg he had been hiding in. All it took was several shots of rum and half a frozen pizza. “Maybe a couple and then… I don’t know.”

“Are you trying to woo me, Paul?”

“Y’know you say my name a lot.” She froze and wasn’t entirely sure why. There was no shame in saying someone’s name. Even if she did say it a lot, nothing was wrong with that. She didn’t know why her heart was hammering against her chest. She didn’t know why she said his name as much as she did. Was he just exaggerating? No, she did say his name often. Somewhere deep down she liked the way it sounded on her tongue. The way she could feel the smile dancing in her mouth after it left. The room spun around her. “I mean… it’s okay. I’m, um, not complaining. Just… saying. Or you could just ignore me. I’m drunk.”

She ran her hands down her face and groaned into them. “This is the weirdest first date I’ve ever been on,” she murmured into her palms. 

“Is that what this is?”

“Well, we had drinks and talked about our feelings. Isn’t that what you do on dates?”

“Fuck if I know. I haven’t been on a date in… I don’t know, years probably.”

“Me either, my guy.” She hoisted herself up to sit and look at him with great effort. Everything around her felt like it was wobbling. Like the entire house had turned into a boat while she wasn’t looking. “But really, if I was gonna be with anyone after that shitshow, I’m glad it was you.” Instead of responding, he just looked down into his lap, swirling the remaining liquid around in his glass. She wished she wasn’t quite as drunk, so she could actually look at his face. The expression was one she imagined he wore those nights when she would ghost past his door. While he muttered things to himself. Cursing himself. Wishing someone else had made it out instead of him. “Ah, fuck it.”

Getting to her feet proved to be a much more difficult task than she had anticipated. She felt the alcohol when she sat up, but standing was a different story. For a second, she worried that she might topple over right onto the coffee table. The drunk gods were watching out in her favor, though, because she was able to steady herself enough to begin lumbering over toward the armchair where he sat. His hands reached out to catch her, but she batted them away. Instead, she scooted in so she was half sitting on one of his thighs and half sitting on the arm of the chair. “Um… what?” he uttered. The breath that hit her face smelled like rum and tea. It took everything in her to not try the whole tongue down his throat thing, but she refrained in order to wrap her arms around his shoulders.

“I think you should fucking stop with that shit,” she mumbled past the side of his head, cheek pressed against his temple. It was the most contact they had since landing in Clivesdale. As soon as they tumbled out of the plane and had cleared themselves of not being members of the alien brood, he had fallen into her. His arms were much bulkier than she thought. Strong and solid. It was one of those hugs she always heard people describe as feeling safe. Solid. Her face buried into his chest, and she could feel him heaving, not sure whether he was panicking or crying. She didn’t look up to find out. Just held herself there for what seemed like hours before the colonel took them away to be questioned separately. The half moons her mascara left in the middle of his shirt were still burnt into the inside of her eyelids. The panic she felt being alone in that small metal room, leg bouncing up and down. Still in her fucking Beanies uniform. It was so cold, and she had no idea what was going on. She just wanted to know that they were okay. Both of them, so they could go home. Wherever that was going to be. It was the second time she had referred to them as a unit in her mind. First in the helicopter. Then waiting to be interrogated by P.E.I.P. “I… I’m glad you made it… and you should be grateful for this rare fucking moment of drunken affection because this isn’t gonna be the norm, motherfucker.”

His arms returned her embrace. Cheeks were warm against the skin of her neck. The frames of his glasses were freezing in comparison. She liked the way his hands felt. One pressed flat against the center of her back. One wrapped all the way around to rest on her side. He was so warm. Just like she had remembered. It was freezing being out there in her old uniform. Shorts and a short sleeved shirt. He mentioned he would have given her his jacket if he could remember when it had gone. Holding him up close again, she took in the little details that she might have missed that night. How his hair smelled like cloves and oranges. How his skin was soft to the touch. How he held her back like he was afraid to let go.

“Cookie dough,” he said into her neck.

She pulled away to look down at him, thoroughly confused. “Excuse me?” she replied. No other response came to mind. The topic seemed completely out of the blue.

“My favorite ice cream flavor,” he reminded her, bringing her back into her original line of questioning. “It’s chocolate chip cookie dough.”

Her eyes were trained down at him. Big blue saucers stared back up at her. She wondered what it would have been like if they were back in Hatchetfield. One unravaged by the singing and dancing apocalypse. If he had an armchair like the one they were sitting in now. If she would have come in after a stupid long shift at the coffee shop and plopped down into his lap to complain about everything. If she would have crawled into his lap and kissed him again and again. God, she was thinking about it. Stupid plush lips mashed up against her own. “Did you want some?” she asked without tearing her eyes from his.

“Some… what?”

“Cookie dough ice cream?” His eyebrows raised. “I have some in the freezer. No cones, but fuck cones anyway.”

“Emma, it’s gotta be the middle of the night. We just had… _so_ much rum.”

“Still thinking about all those plans you’ve got in the morning, huh?” She watched his eyes scan over her face, lingering on her lips. Like they were telepathically sharing thoughts. Or at the very least, he was having the exact same thoughts she was running through his brain. Grunting, he buried his face back into her neck. “C’mon, big guy. Let’s get some fucking ice cream!”

She toppled off of his lap and wandered toward the kitchen with him in tow. Stopping on her heel, she turned to look up at him. He looked exhausted. She could only imagine she looked about the same. Tired and fucking plastered. “Now, it’s a real date,” she informed him. He arched a brow. “We’re ending the night with ice cream. That’s a thing people do, right?”

“Probably,” he guessed, shrugging. “I’ve got a feeling I’ll be throwing up cookie dough chunks in the middle of the night, but whatever I guess. All in the name of a first date.” They continued into the kitchen side-by-side. Almost as if they could have been a couple of teenagers wandering down a beach boardwalk toward the local ice cream shop. “Is that really what this is? I… I just kinda pictured it different.”

“This is it, buddy.” She opened the freezer drawer and pulled out a pint of Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. “Take it or leave it.”

“I guess I’ll take it,” he sighed dramatically as he took the pint out of her hand, so she could move across the room to grab bowls.

There was no way, even totally hammered, she could have missed their hands lingering together during the exchange. A smile crept across her face when she turned around. All it took was a little booze and a fucking hug. Who would have thought?


	3. B.L.T. Sandwich With a Side of Advil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul sleep all day and have to ward off a hangover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! I'M SO HAPPY YOU GUYS ARE ENJOYING THIS.
> 
> I also know I said this was only going to be 5 chapters, but I don't know that I can wrap it up in that few of chapters. So we'll just see where this goes.

By the time Emma woke back up, it was dark out still. Or again. She couldn’t really tell. All she could tell was that her head was pounding. Fishing her phone out of her pocket, she squeezed one eye shut to look at the screen. It was so bright. Too bright. Quickly, she turned the brightness down as far as it would go.  _ 5:34. Friday, December 20. _ What time had she gone to bed? She couldn’t remember even taking note of that. To be fair, though, she couldn’t remember much past throwing up ice cream in the toilet. When she got around the fact that she was sure her head was going to explode, she could focus on the taste of stale bile lingering in her mouth. Her face pinched in disgust as she smacked her lips together. They felt scaly against one another. Like tree bark. She attempted to sit up, but her entire body protested. Achy and dizzy all over. God, she wasn’t eighteen at a party she snuck out to where she could smoke off her hangover the next day. Even then when she was drunk off of PBR and cheap bottom shelf tequila, it never felt like this.

Reaching up, she found the back of the couch. Had she passed out there? The leverage allowed her to hoist herself up into a sitting position. She carefully turned around to the easy chair. It was empty. Slowly, she turned herself around again, eye catching something on the coffee table. A glass of water and two peach-colored tablets. She greedily scooped the tablets up and popped them into her mouth with the intention of a quick dry swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Grumbling to herself, she grabbed the glass of water and tentatively took a sip. The hydration on her tongue was like running through a sprinkler on the front lawn as a child. Refreshing and cooling. Each gulp she took slowly, hoping that her dizziness and headache would not be accompanied by nausea as well. The water fell heavily into her belly. Every sip fell like cannonballs into the pit of her gut, and she prayed that it would stay down. Water had never tasted so fucking good.

When she began to come to, she could see the light was on in the kitchen, shining dimly over everything in the living room. Shapes of the coffee table and TV and lamps and end tables began to take shape in her unsteady vision. At the far end of the room, she could barely make out the snow that was piling up outside the sliding glass door. It had to be at least a foot high and seemed to still be coming down heavily. It was supposed to be the blizzard of the decade after all. She wondered briefly about how everyone’s Christmas plans were likely going to be ruined. At second thought, however, she thought about how she hadn’t celebrated the holiday last year. Or New Years. Or her birthday. Or his birthday even. No Fourth of July. No Halloween. No Thanksgiving. Nothing. The year had passed in a blur. A blurred walk down a path of eggshells. Some days she was so worried she might say something wrong and secret agents would come pouring out of every crevice in the house to lock her away.

She ran a hand over her face, taking a deep breath in . The house smelled like bacon. Her stomach growled either out of emptiness after she threw up in the downstairs toilet or because she had slept for an entire day. The jury was still out. She swung her legs off the edge of the couch before standing shakily on her feet. The room spun. Not as badly as it had the night before as she scooped exorbitant amounts of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream into bowls for them. But everything still felt like she was one of the beads inside of a kaleidoscope. She shuffled across the wood floor, looking down when her foot caught. Just one sock was missing. Groaning, she lifted her feet up to take slow cautious steps towards the next room.

In the kitchen, she found Paul, leaning up against the counter beside the stove. A plate in one hand. Half a sandwich in the other. His eyes stared off into space through those same stupid glasses she liked so much (when she was willing to admit she liked them). Hairs jutted out at odd angles atop his head. He wore the same sweater and jeans he had been wearing when she got home from the grocery store. That he wore when he gave her wide eyes at the drink that was definitely highly alcoholic but didn’t taste like it. That he wore when she crawled into his lap to try and hug the guilt out of him. There was a shadow of exhaustion cast over his face. Really, he looked about as good as she felt. He glanced up at her and waved his half a sandwich. “Morning,” he muttered.

She squeezed one eye shut, taking in the overhead light in the kitchen. “Is it really?” she wondered, pressing her thumb into her temple.

Eyes moving downward, he took a bite of his sandwich. “No,” he sighed through his mouthful. 

“Damn.” She continued her shuffling to move into the spot next to him. In an effort to be inconspicuous, she leaned forward to see what sort of sandwich he was eating. He pulled the sandwich out of her view. “Are you a member of the secret sandwich society now?”

“What? Um, yeah… no,” he stumbled, narrowing his eyes at her. “No… what is... my brain isn’t working right now, and I woke up with a bowl filled with melted ice cream on my lap in the chair. Everything hurts, and I’m dying.”

“That’s a little dramatic, Paul.”

“Your face is a little dramatic, Emma.”

A smirk broke out across her face despite the pounding behind her eyes. She didn’t know who this mildly childish person was, but she was pretty entertained by him. There were a dozen quick remarks she could have made back at him. Some were even getting lost in her throat before even hitting her tongue. “What’re you eating?” was the response she decided on, jutting her chin out toward the half a sandwich.

His posture eased up, leaning back in her direction. “B.L.T.,” he stated simply before he chomped down onto the bread again. “You want one?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think I could keep a whole sandwich down,” she explained. He nodded sagely. Almost as if this was not the first sandwich he was having that evening. “Could I just have a bite of yours?”

His gaze turned to his food as if he were considering her question. As if it were something he wouldn’t normally even consider. As if asking him to take a  _ bite _ out of something he had already and would be continuing to  _ bite  _ into himself. If he said no, she was ready to bring up the spitty coffee from Beanies again. But after a beat of deliberation, he held the sandwich out to her. “Fine,” he begrudgingly agreed, but she thought she saw the glimmer of a grin on his face. Her teeth sunk into the softened white bread and through the layers of lettuce and tomato. The bacon, she noted, was cooked perfectly. Not too chewy yet not overcooked. Just enough chew and crunch to take her back to sitting in a barely standing shack eating freshmade breakfast in Guatemala. Eggs and slivers of meat and various fruits. The smile grew over her face she pulled away with a mouthful of B.L.T. “Jesus, Emma, that was half of what was left.”

Shrugging, she continued to chew. “What? It’s good,” she murmured with her hand in front of her mouth, so she wouldn’t show off the delicious food half-chewed in her mouth.

“Unbelievable. I would’ve made you your own.”

“Nope, I’d rather mooch off of you.”

“That’s not fair,” he whined, sending her into a fit of laughter. “This is the second one I’ve made because I fucking puked the first one up.”

“You know what that sounds like to me?”

“What?”

She grabbed his hand and pulled it back towards her, taking another nibble of his sandwich. “A personal problem,” she snickered. Rather than actually replying, he simply huffed and pulled the food and plate up closer to his face. “It took this long for me to steal your food, dude. It was bound to fucking happen.”

He shook his head, popping the last corner of his sandwich into his mouth. It was too big of a mouthful. His cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. All in the name of not having any more food stolen from him. The movements and the eyerolls made her wonder about him again. What school lunches had been like for him, snatching a small plastic bag of chips away when a friend tried to steal one. If he had siblings who would grab french fries off of his plate at a diner. Maybe he would have all the peanut butter cups snatched out of his candy sack on Halloween. Strange. That’s how it felt to look at him, both of them still very much hungover from the night before. Standing in a kitchen that was smack in the middle of a place where they lived together. This man who lived just across the island from her their whole lives, yet she had never met him once before he started ordering a cup of black coffee every single day from her shitty place of employment.

“What?” he blurted out, eyes wide. “What’re you looking at?”

Had she been staring? Maybe. She had zoned out, thinking about all the history she was trying to fill in for herself. A fill in the blank story about a roommate she kind of wanted to make out with, but also had this weird urge to find out about his childhood and general life story. It wasn’t something she was used to. Hell, she ran away from the one person who really cared about her enough to keep trying to include her even after she went AWOL for an entire decade. “I don’t know,” she spat as a response, unsure of where she really wanted to go with an answer. “I don’t know! Your… face?”

His brows furrowed. “Is there something on it?” he asked. He wiped furiously at his cheeks and chin. “Is it gone?”

“No, I don’t think you can wipe being a fucking weirdo away that easily.”

“You think  _ I’m  _ being weird?” he challenged with his eyebrows now raising. “You’re the one who was just staring at me without saying anything.”

“Am I not allowed to look at you now?”

“Not if you’re going to be weird about it.”

“You’re the one making it weird.”

“Because  _ you  _ were being weird!”

Standing in the kitchen with him, laughing at his nervousness, felt surreal. Like the blizzard and stopped and sped up time all at once. Like this was something that was old hat to them. It was as though they would just stand in their house and banter back and forth every night. Seemingly something they had done for years. That’s exactly the way things read to her. Regardless of the fact that she virtually knew nothing about him aside from him surviving the apocalypse with her and that coming to Colorado was his first time leaving the island, she could have sworn she knew him her whole life. A certain level of comfort she rarely, if ever, felt with anyone else. Shit, she told him, a complete stranger, about her dead sister after knowing him for maybe a day. But being with him was like getting into a favorite pair of jeans: comfortable and familiar.

“Why didn’t you ever ask me for my number?” she asked. His head tilted to the side curiously. “Back in Hatchetfield. You came in  _ every _ goddamn day and talked to me a little. Then you’d leave. You didn’t even ask for my name.”

He placed his plate onto the counter behind him and then braced himself against the edge of the countertop. “Well,” he puffed before pursing his lips. It was a fair question. She thought so at least. It seemed silly to her that he would so clearly have a thing for her for an extended period of time, yet he would just give her a tip that was too generous each day and then be on his way. “I don’t know. I was worried you’d shut me down, I guess.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have ever known if you didn’t try.”

“I don’t know, Emma,” he replied earnestly, shrugging. “I liked… just seeing you, and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to see you and have stupid polite retail conversation with you anymore.” He glanced over at her. His eyes were tired but so blue. She had noticed the day when everything went to shit. The exact moment was when she was pretty sure he was losing his mind (when she was feeling disappointed because he was cute, but god dammit, he was fucking nuts). Just a crystal clear blue. One of the most beautiful sets of eyes she had ever seen when she actually sat down and thought about it. Even when they looked like they could just slide right back into sleep as he stood there. “It’s fucking dumb now, but it was more important to be... I guess, to keep seeing you.”

Her heart raced in her chest. “Were you stalking me, Paul?” she inquired, knowing full well he, indeed, had not been stalking her.

“What? Are you? What are you talking… I  _ was not!” _ he sputtered with eyes now wide. His face went bright red like it had when she asked him what his name was. It felt like a million years ago.

“That sounds exactly like something a stalker would say.”

“Emma!”

“Paul!” she rebounded right back at him. Her head was beginning to clear. Like the balloon that was expanding in her skull had begun to deflate. A lopsided grin laid itself across her lips. “I’m just fucking with you.” He stared down at her, red in the face. His lips were still pressed together tightly. “It just would have been nice to go out, y’know, with a little less trauma.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled without breaking the stare at her. It was her turn to tilt her head to the side, grin twisting upward. He had commented while they were both heavily inebriated that she was very bold with her words. Actions not as much perhaps. She had grown tired of dancing around. Of living with a stranger. Immediately after the disaster, things were quiet, but they were close. Physically near each other whenever they could be. Like they were a security blanket to one another. Grasping onto his arm, just below his elbow. Hand ghosting on her upper back as they walked through dismal cement hallways. Eyes catching and communicating through some unspoken language. Then they arrived in Colorado, and suddenly, there were no comforting touches. There were no close encounters. There were no longing gazes. Just back to two people existing parallel to one another. Now, he stood in the kitchen, watching her like she remembered from that day. Fond and nervous. A little sweaty maybe. But that could have just been the hangover. “I think Ben would have just done it.”

“Oh yeah?” she hummed, interested in the angle he was trying to get at.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I think Ben wouldn’t have thought twice about asking you out,” he elaborated, glancing down at her. “I like to think that Ben’s got his shit together a little more than Paul, and he doesn’t sweat as much when he’s nervous. Also he can hold his alcohol a little better.”

“How would that have gone down with Ben? Let’s say this dude rolls into Beanies hell bent on asking ya girl here out. How does this shit all go down?”

“I don’t know. He’d just come in and ask you out. Maybe he’d order a coffee too and then ask you out to dinner.”

“Pfft, boring,” she moaned, leaning her head back for dramatic flare. “How would Paul have done it?”

“Paul… would’ve probably asked you if you wanted to get coffee some time--”

“I fucking  _ knew _ it!”

“--and then he would have been so embarrassed you would have had to make a better suggestion.”

Nudging into him gently, she smiled up at him. “I think I would have liked that one better,” she admitted without moving away from him. Waiting for him to make the move. Anticipating he wouldn’t. Figuring she would wait it out just to see if he did. “That one’s got a little more flavor to it.”

His eyes locked onto her, almost entranced. “Mm.” The hum wasn’t one in agreement or just for filler. More like he had been lost in thought. Trying to come up with the right words. “Um, I… can I try something?”

“That depends. If it involves super glue and/or paper cranes, the answer is no.”

“But… if it has neither of those?”

“Then I guess you could go for it.”

And just like that, there was a hand gently resting on her cheek. Before she could get another word in edgewise, his lips were on hers. Soft and tentative. Unsure of what he was doing. Unsure of whether or not she was looking for this. Even though she was pretty fucking sure she’d made her intentions clear. His lips were soft like she thought they would be. Especially after the heavy night of drinking. She was fairly certain hers felt like sandpaper. Often, she wondered about how people could stay with the same person for years on end. Staying in the same place with the same individual for better or worse. For just a moment, though, she was curious if this is actually what it felt like. It was a terrifying thought, but something about surviving what could have been the end of the world made her less inclined to run.

It did allow for her thoughts to wander, and she pulled away from him, taking in the moment between them briefly. His breath tickled her skin. Hand warm on her cheek. Part of her wanted to turn into him and pull his face back down to hers, but she refrained. “I can’t believe you threw up your first fucking B.L.T. and then just made another fucking B.L.T.,” she laughed, staring at the eyes that were now rolling at her.

“I really wanted a B.L.T.!”

“That’s gross, Paul.”

“Yeah? Well… your breath smells like shit.”

“Oh? I guess we don’t have to kiss again then.”

“No, no, no, no! That’s… it’s okay that your breath smells like shit.”

“You’ve really got a way with the ladies, huh?”

“I… no.”

With another grin, she patted his chest before heading out of the room. “I'm going to go shower and drink an entire bottle of mouthwash,” she announced, pausing in the doorway to look over her shoulder at him. “Would you like to try that again later?”

His eyes widened. “Um, yes,” he answered. “Yes, I would.”

“Fucking sweet. It’s a date then.”


	4. A Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma sit down and have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how long this little guy is going to be BUT HERE WE ARE.

The shower made her feel human again. Realistically, it was just a little bit hygiene related, but mostly due to sitting in the warm water. Soaking up all the heat into her muscles all the way down to her bones. Some days felt weirder than others. This one was particularly odd. Not only because she slept all day. Not only because she had gotten drunk with black coffee Paul the night before. The water had washed over her. She blinked when the droplets began to pour into her open eyes. In the sizable tub, she found herself curled into a ball right in line with the stream. She wondered if the meteor had brought that crazy thunderstorm with it or if that was purely coincidence. The last time she had talked to Zoey was when she offered her a ride home from work right as the rain was starting.  _ “In your shitty car? I’d rather not die. Thank you.” _

Emma stared at herself in the mirror. She looked exhausted still. Like hell warmed over. Eyes a little dull. Cheeks sunken a bit more than she remembered noticing last. She brought her towel up to her head to ring out her hair. It had already begun leaving small wet spots over the shoulders of her sweatshirt. Heather grey with maroon lettering embroidered across the chest.  _ Virginia Tech. _ Kelly was a college graduate with a degree in agricultural technology. She was left to assume that was put in place just to make the whole pot farm thing more feasible. Though, the pot farm wasn’t going much of anywhere any time soon. Her fingers ran over the words. It wasn’t the only piece of clothing from a place she had never been. Baltimore. Portland. Austin. London. Amsterdam. Kelly was well-traveled. Emma wondered if she was even allowed to leave Colorado as per P.E.I.P.’s rules. 

Towel falling to the floor in a sad damp pile, she pushed her way out of the bathroom. The air in the hall hit her like an arctic wave. She was suddenly regretting throwing on a pair of comfortable shorts, but part of her was hoping to not have to stay in them for very long. From her vantage point, she could see Paul’s bedroom light was on, which it wasn’t when she had gotten into the shower. She crept toward it, peeking through the crack to see if he was in there. Which was a silly thing for her to be unsure about because he never left a light on in a room. If he planned to leave a room, he was sure to turn the light off behind him. A habit she guessed had been instilled in him many moons ago. 

In the room, she could see him sitting on the edge of his bed, facing away from the door. He had changed as well, now wearing a purple t-shirt. Perhaps one of Ben’s old shirts from James Madison University. Sometimes she was curious as to what the backstory between Kelly and Ben was. Did they meet in Virginia somewhere between their two schools? Maybe at a party. He would have sidled up to her as she watched on from the edge of the room and glowered into her beer. They would have talked and ended up on the back deck of this house. Conversation would last well into the night until Kelly would be beckoned away by her friends. They would exchange phone numbers and use up all the minutes on their parent’s respective phone plans. But truth be told, it didn’t really matter. This was not Ben and Kelly’s story.

She pushed the door open gently. Even so, it made him jump. “Sorry,” she chuckled before taking in his face. Red and splotchy. Eyes almost electric in their blueness against bloodshot whites. He slid his glasses back over his face to look at her, probably hoping she would overlook the state he was in. “You okay?” This wasn’t how she left him. Holding an empty plate with a nervous grin on his face in the kitchen. Awe struck gaze following her until she was out of view. 

“Yeah, fine,” he replied. His voice was thick. Heavy even. Suddenly the levity from their earlier interactions was sucked into the vacuum of darkness. Shoulders beneath the purple fabric sagged, seemingly defeated by something. What it was, she couldn’t be sure. She stepped into the room and almost instantly realized she had never actually been in there before. His things were neat and minimal. A single dresser with a candle on top of it. A small hamper beside the door to his closet that appeared to be half filled with various articles of clothing. Most notably, the jeans and sweater he had been wearing for at least twenty-four hours. Two pairs of sneakers, one pair of slippers, and a single pair of boots were all lined up at the foot of his bed. Like they had been staged there. The whole room seemed like something out of a realtor’s wet dream. Simple and tidy.

The bed sunk down beneath her as she sat down next to him. “You sure?” she pressed. It was unprecedented. So many nights, she could hear him muttering to himself, sounding as though he was either on the verge of or already in tears. Each and every time, she slunk back into her room and shut her door quietly behind her. Now she was interested in actually asking about his feelings? Let alone, pushing for him to let them out. “I’ve seen you… in the middle of the night sometimes.” He glanced over at her. “I wake up a lot, too, and your door is usually open a little bit.” She pulled her legs up and scooched back enough to sit cross-legged. “So I’ve got this hunch that you might not be fucking okay.”

A sad chuckle left his throat as his eyes fell back to the floor, nodding. “Fair enough, I guess,” he agreed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about Bill a lot.” That first night off the island they sat across from each other on shitty cots in a pop-up P.E.I.P. headquarters. He mentioned that Bill was his best friend and that Alice was already gone by the time they got to the high school. It was vague enough that she didn’t know what exactly went down, but the detail was there to make it clear that he was in pain. “Alice, too. I knew her since she was a little girl. I used to babysit a lot especially when Bill was in the thick of the divorce. He had to pick up another job to afford the attorney fees.” Another pained laugh. “She called me Uncle Paul. She was… a really good kid. Good head on her shoulders, and fuck what Bill kept saying. She and her girlfriend were really happy together. This past August, she would have been heading off to college.”

Alice wasn’t a part of that day that Emma thought about very often. She was a young girl, whom she never had the chance to actually meet. At most, she might have heard the girl’s terrified pleading with her father before he and Paul headed out of Fort Hidgens. Clearly, though, she had been a significant part of his life. A piece that continued to eat at him. “I’m sorry, Paul,” was all Emma could muster.

“It’s done.” He shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know what I expected to happen. Ted was right. She was already dead the second Bill hung up that phone, but I still… I can’t stop thinking about if we had gotten her out.” His eyes drifted back up to her, glistening in the light of his bedside lamp. Slick with a fresh set of tears. “Bill… tried to… fucking off himself, and  _ I _ threw the fucking gun onto the ground.” He pressed his index finger and thumb into the corners of his closed eyes beneath his glasses. “I keep seeing that night in my mind and… Bill watched them. He looked off. I just know he saw it coming. He said he couldn’t live without his daughter, so he let the alien hiding in her skin kill him.”

“Paul--”

“She shot him in the face with a fucking shotgun, and I didn’t do anything to stop her.”

“What could you have done?” she asked, shifting to face him. Comforting wasn’t really a thing she had ever been particularly good with, but here she was, giving it her best shot. “Jumped in front of the bullet? What good would that have done?”

“I watched my best friend’s brains get blown all over the wall of a high school choir room by his zombie fucking daughter. I just feel fucking bad about it.” He buried his face in his hands. “Alice and Bill should have been out of there. Not me.”

“Don’t say--”

“I had nothing. I woke up everyday and went to a job that I hated. Ate shitty TV dinners and really had one friend. There was nothing for me, but I’m here. He had a daughter, who was his fucking world, and they’re both dead,” he continued, face still in the palms of his hands.

She was at a loss. It was a complete 180 from where they were when she headed upstairs. Teasing about thrown up sandwiches. Talking about what could have been. That short but sweet kiss. Now, this. This was what he dealt with every night. Maybe not just about Bill. Perhaps it was sometimes Charlotte or even Ted. He had survived when he felt he had nothing to survive for. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it out,” she offered in an attempt to be gentle. Tip-toeing around feelings wasn’t her strong suit, but she was doing the best she could to walk on eggshells with her lead feet. 

His face peeked out from his hands to look at her. “And that’s the thing,” he murmured with a groan. “You’d think this would be a dream come true. I survived a hellish musical apocalypse, got to start over across the country, and live with the girl of my dreams.” She bit down on the side of her cheek to keep from scoffing at the sentiment. It wasn’t the time to poke fun at sentimentality. “But I just keep thinking that I’m the wrong person to get out. I got to fucking kiss you tonight, and I still wonder if this was some big fluke.”

“Jane’s husband and son were on the island still,” she told him, eyes falling to the bed between them. “They lived off Mckinley Road right around the corner from Sycamore. Tom… didn’t want anything to do with me no matter how hard I tried. It was rough because I came back to get close to them. I mean, at the very fucking least, I wanted to get to know my nephew.” A heavy sigh escaped her lungs. “They were all I had left, and I’m going to be honest with you, Paul. It wasn’t until we were off the island that I thought about them. The only fucking family I had left… the only fucking  _ people _ I had left are gone, and I was too selfish to even think about them until I was safe. Isn’t that fucked up?”

There was no answer. Not for a while at least. They just sat in quiet sadness next to one another on his bed. Both feeling guilty for surviving. Both feeling as though it was a mistake for them to get out. It was the first time she had really thought about Tom and Tim since the first few days post-meteor. Her only family left, and she’d let them go by the wayside. All she had left of her sister was gone. Just like that. She only met Tim at Jane’s funeral, and even then, Tom barely let him interact with her. Now, they were just gone. She was alone. Again.

“I have  _ no _ family left, and I’m  _ technically  _ fucking dead on an island somewhere.” Her guts felt like they were twisting around. It was like her hangover was back in full force. Everything felt blurry and like she could potentially vomit. Jane was gone, and now so was everyone else. “I left, so I could be alone. Now, I really am alone, and it feels like  _ shit.” _ Their eyes caught each other. He was watching her so intently. Just like he had back at the professor’s house when she had told him about her sister. No judgement. He simply listened to her. “Just… don’t be too hard on yourself, is what I’m trying to get at with all this fucking self pity.”

He hummed in response without looking away from her. The stare was just verging on intense. Mostly because he wouldn’t look away. It was as though he were trying to figure out a puzzle on her face. Like he was pushing all the pieces around trying to get the full picture. Though may he was also trying to figure out how she could be such a selfish asshole that she forgot her own family. A loose term, for sure, but it was the real reason she stayed in Hatchetfield. To get closer with Jane again from beyond the grave. Get to know the people she had spent the previous decade with. Her last decade. God, there the guilt was again.

“Do you really feel like you’re alone?” 

The question was fair enough, considering she literally just said she was alone, but she hadn’t really considered what she had said. Or who she was saying it too. Because truthfully, she wasn’t alone. Not really. She felt like she was back on that cot in Clivesdale. Sitting close to him with. Cross-legged with hair wet from a hot shower. Her eyes fell down to her wrists. No ropeburn like when they were last in this position. She ran her fingers over the inside of her opposite wrist. The ghosts were coming up and out to haunt her. No matter how much she tried to keep them locked away, they always seemed to find their way up into her head.

“Did you have any family? Y’know, back in Hatchetfield.”

He took a deep breath in. “Yeah… um, yeah, I did,” he admitted, hands falling into his lap. “My parents and brothers. I don’t know… I didn’t reach out when everything started happening. We weren’t close. Just the get together at Christmas kind of people. They didn’t cross my mind until later. Not even right after honestly,” he explained. A small, sad chuckle. He looked back up at her. “Isn’t  _ that _ fucked up?”

“We’re pretty fucked up, Paul.”

“Yeah… not alone, though.”

She gave him a close-lipped smile. “No, not alone,” she agreed. For a moment, she thought about reaching out for one of his hands, but she refrained. Comfort was escaping her. She instantly felt like she could squirm right out of her own skin. Like Emma had shared too much information, so it was time to send Kelly in. A blank slate. Someone who had a good foundation. Someone who didn’t continually fuck everything up. “I think… I’m going to go to bed.”

As he sat up straight, she saw his face fall. “Oh, um, okay,” he replied. She stood and slid toward the door, lingering for a second as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. They never did when she needed them to it seemed. He twisted around to look at her. His expression read as something between disappointed and depressed. As if he was a kid on Christmas morning who asked over and over again for a bike but got told his dog was missing instead of getting to open gifts. “You could… stay if you wanted to.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you didn’t want to be… y’know… alone, you could--you know what? Forget I said anything. I--”

“Okay.” Every bell and whistle was going off in her brain, telling her to cut the shit. That she needed to march over to her bedroom and start packing her shit together, so she could leave when the snow let up. He knew too much. She had said too much. But still she said it. Something deeper was pulling her back into the room.

He blinked. “Okay?” he repeated, voice turning upward into a question.

“Okay.”


	5. The Art of Creative Hypotheticals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have some quiet pillow talk as the storm rages on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's a little thing! I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> (I will also respond to comments later on I think. I've gotta dash and get some stuff done before the work week ahead, but I promise I will get to it!"

When they were lying nose-to-nose in Paul’s bed, Emma felt like her heart was going to explode right through her chest. They hadn’t said another word after she turned back and crawled under his blankets. His sheets were soft like a well worn t-shirt. It was comfortable and warm. Familiar even, though she had never been in his bedroom prior to that evening. Beneath the whistling of the heavy winds outside the windows, she could hear his soft breathing. Even and cool but not asleep quite yet. Something in her wanted to reach out and touch him. Grab his hand. Run her fingers over his cheek. Pull him close to her. But she refrained. Instead, she continued to watch him in the dark. Not that watching would do much good. She couldn’t see a goddamn thing.

She wondered if he was judging her in the pitch black. Thinking of all the wrong she’d done. All he really knew of her personal life was that she bailed on her only living family for a whole decade and only came back when her sister fucking died, had a dead end job as a barista after only strating college in her thirties, and to top it all off, the final members of her family were the last things on her mind the day the world ended. She wouldn’t blame him if his opinion of her significantly fell. Her own opinion of herself seemed to be getting worse with each day that passed. All she wanted was to get him to talk to her, but in an effort to make him feel better, she threw herself into a swirling vortex of misery. Once again, Emma was successfully fucking things up.

To her surprise, he was the one to reach out. The touch was tentative, hesitant almost, but it was certainly there. She felt his fingers just barely brush up against hers. If she had been anywhere close to falling asleep, she might not have even noticed it. A simple feather light touch that sent a whisper of a shiver down her spine. The intention she had with the blizzard blowing in was to just get back to talking. Bring a sense of normalcy into the house. Yet here she was in his bed with him reaching out for her after a shitty at-home therapy session that left neither one of them feeling any better.

"Hey, Paul?" she called quietly through the dark. She didn't think he was asleep. Stranger things have happened, though, she supposed. If he ended up being asleep, she'd be fine. Her mind was just racing, and if he was awake, somehow she felt like he could make her feel better. There was no particular reason why. He was still technically just black coffee Paul. The same one she had an odd impromptu heart-to-heart with after his friends had an argument about one kicking the other's head. The same one who came back to get her when he could have easily just waited for the helicopter himself.

"Yeah?"

Even though she was the one who had called out for him, the fact that he responded startled her. Clearly, she was expecting him to either be asleep or not want to talk to her. "Do you think I'm a shitty person?" she questioned, voice barely above a whisper. Almost as though she hoped he wouldn't hear the question and, in turn, his answer to the question.

He was silent for a moment. His hand found hers again, index finger tapping just below her thumb as he thought about his answer. The quiet was deafening. It made her want to puke her guts out again. "No," he decided as he drew his hand back again. "I don't think you're a shitty person. I think being thrown into the end of the world could make anyone… make decisions they might regret. Doesn't make you a shitty person. You're just human, which is shitty enough as it is."

"Jesus," she sighed. Once again, his hand was back and lingered over hers for a moment. No touching. Just a palpable reluctance. For a moment, it felt like they were back at Beanies. The question about getting her number was on the tip of his tongue, but the anxiety of never seeing her again held him back. This time, though, he decided the risk was worth the reward. His fingers wrapped themselves around hers. She hadn’t realized previously how cold she was until his warm hand had enveloped her icy fingers. “Were you moonlighting as a shrink or something before?”

The bed shifted beneath him as he moved closer to her. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “No,” he chuckled lightly. “But y’know, a lifetime of not handling your own shit but constantly hearing stuff from everyone else can have its perks.” She had begun to stroke the side of his hand with her thumb. It wasn’t a conscious action, but she was doing it anyway. Even when she had made an active note she was doing so, she didn’t stop. There was a strange feeling of exhilaration that came from it. Maybe it was just liking someone enough to want to touch them. Comfort them even. But it had been so long since that had happened she wasn’t betting on that one. “Everyone either came to talk  _ at  _ me about their problems or just forgot I was there when they talked about them. I mean, Bill was in a constant battle with his ex over who Alice loved more. Always showing each other up, and it was fucking dumb because clearly she loved them both, but they kept at it anyway. Charlotte and Ted had been sleeping together for… god, I don’t know. The better part of four years probably. All while she was in the middle of marriage counseling with Sam. Then Ted was just… Ted. He liked to pretend he didn’t care as much as he did about how we all saw him. Especially Charlotte.” The bed moved again beneath him after what she could only imagine was a shrug. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“What about you?” she wondered, jutting her chin out toward him. “You know  _ basically _ my entire life history, so what was going on with Paul? The guy who doesn’t like musicals has to have a little more to him than that… and y’know, all the emotional trauma.”

A laugh echoed through the quiet darkness. “No, um,” he started. This time she took it upon herself to move closer. Like a kid who was getting ready to listen intently to their bedtime story. Their hands were still intertwined between them. “No, Paul had a house… and a cat. Janis. She was the best. I used to come home after days of utter bullshit at work, and she would just curl up next to me and purr all night. It was nice to have someone so happy to see me.” He paused a moment to let out another chuckle. “She had one of those little doggy doors to go in and out when she wanted. She usually just laid out in the sun on the patio and then came back in once the sun moved, so I’m hoping that she’s still kicking it around the island. Catching mice? I don’t know. Do cats really do that?”

“You’re a cat man?”

“...I guess?”

“I don’t know. I would’ve pegged you as having a lab or something like that. Some kind of big, stupid, lovable dog seems more your speed.”

“Are you calling me big, stupid, and lovable?”

“Pfft. No. Now, tell me more about Paul from Hatchetfield.”

He snorted. “There’s really not that much more to tell. Paul went to work, drank black coffee, and then went home at night to his cat. He was a pretty boring guy,” he explained. His breath hit her face in a wave of warm mint. There was no trace of the bile or B.L.T. from earlier in the evening. Was it even still evening? Time seemed to have lost meaning since the snow started falling. “He probably could have used some spice in his fucking boring life.”

“Maybe. Sounds like someone who could’ve scored a date with a barista, but for whatever reason, he was too nervous to ask her out. Like, dude, she was a little mean, but who could say no to free fucking dinner?”

“This is assuming Paul paid for dinner? Or that dinner was involved at all?”

“Oh yeah, Paul would’ve taken her out to a nice dinner after bumbling his way through actually scoring the date. Maybe they would have gone to Salt or some shit like that.”

“Salt? Are you kidding? How much money do you think I was making.”

“More than my minimum wage-earning self, you ass.”

“Fair enough,” he finally agreed. They were close enough now that if she just moved a little they would be pressed together. Chest-to-chest. She was curious if he could feel how fast her heart was beating. This wasn’t the norm for her with anyone she slept with. There were no feelings involved. More importantly, it didn’t involve actually sleeping. “How would the rest of the date with the barista go do you think?”

“Well, I think it would go okay. I think Paul would make some dumbass jokes she would laugh at even though they’d be fucking garbage,” she continued, grinning when he laughed at her own shitty storytelling. “They’d eat some damn fine food. I think she’d have the chicken paprikash, and he’d… he’d have the grilled salmon. They would probably stay at the restaurant late talking about nothing.  _ He  _ would pay for dinner, but only after she offered to go splitsies with him. Then she’d probably ask him out on a second date when they walked back to their cars after getting kicked out at closing time, and he’d say yes. And she would probably kiss him goodnight.”

“Probably?”

“Depends on how garlicky the salmon smelled.”

“Is this you saying you want to go on an actual date?”

“No, this is me saying how a hypothetical date in Hatchetfield would have gone. Come on, catch up, Paul.”

“So if Ben were to ask Kelly to go get a nice dinner with him after the storm is over, she would tell him no? Because it was just a hypothetical thing.”

“No, absolutely not. Kelly isn’t an idiot, sir. Kelly loves food and would really very much  _ like _ getting a bite to eat with Ben.”

“Oh, so is this  _ you  _ asking  _ me  _ out on a date?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” she answered noncommittally. “Isn’t that how you said it would have happened anyway? You’d ask me out for coffee, and then I’d have to do all the work to actually plan the date?” He groaned in response, and all she could do was laugh, leaning into him. Bridging the space between them, so that their bodies were now touching. They had never been close like this before. There had been hugs filled with desperation and relief and various times where he had stepped between her and the singing alien brood, but this was different. No threat of danger loomed around them. Just a feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Wrapped around them like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. 

Before she had the chance to continue, his lips found hers again. A little more forceful than down in the kitchen. Though, perhaps it wasn’t force. He felt more confident this time around. Like he knew what he was doing. For a split second, she felt like the air had escaped her lungs, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. Honestly, she had just seen this dude forcing back tears as he talked about the severe survivor’s guilt he dealt with on the daily, and now, she was in his bed being kissed by him. She thought about how it would go down. What the first time she ended up spending the night with him would be like. This wasn’t how it went ever, but dear god, did she like how it felt kissing him.

Much to her chagrin, he pulled away from her. Another wave of minty goodness breezed over her face. “Is this okay?” he asked breathlessly. There was no reason for him to be out of breath, but he was. She took a moment to gather her thoughts and realized she, too, felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. “Emma?”

“What? Yeah, this is good,” she answered quickly, feeling like him in that moment. Tripping over her own words. “Yeah, this is good.” Her hand unwound from his and made its way to his cheek. The skin was just slightly scratchy. Like he was ready for a shave. “You should, um, keep doing that. But also...” her voice trailed off as she grabbed his hand to place it on her hip. “Yeah, that. Good… fuckin great.” She pulled him in again, crushing her lips against his. There was more desperation in this kiss. One that was meant to make either or both of them forget the horrors. Forget the what-ifs. Forget everything. There was no Hatchetfield catastrophe. There was no survivor’s guilt. There was no Ben. No Kelly. Just the two of them. Just the current moment.

He pulled her closer to him. Hips pressed flush against one another. She involuntarily yipped at the sudden pull, which caused him to pull away for a moment. “No, no… nope, that was. Just fucking ignore that,” she muttered, pulling his face back to her. When their lips met again, she could feel the small smile. She wasn’t sure if that was because of her response or the fact that she hadn’t told him to stop when his hand moved from her hip to linger on her ass. Brazen. And all it took was a hangover and some shitty therapy from someone who very much was not a professional. Not that she was complaining. She’d give weekly therapy sessions if this was how they ended. 

His fingers lingered just below the hem of her sweatshirt, brushing against the bare skin beneath. She swallowed down the whimper her throat was trying to let out. “If you want to take my shirt off, you don’t have fucking wait for an invitation,” she muttered against his lips before kissing up his jaw. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“Um okay,” he gasped as she nipped at the pulse point on his neck. His hand remained, slowly inching up her side as her teeth dragged their way down his throat. “Okay, hey, um, Em _ ma.” _ His voice drifted into something of a moan when she sunk her teeth in again this time into the side of his neck. She hummed a response and felt him shudder. “Can I… um, turn the light on?” Once again, her heartbeat was accelerating. Not that it was a problem to have the lights on or even be seen. She didn’t give a shit who or what saw her at any state of undress. It wasn’t something that had ever made her uncomfortable. But sex was something that usually stayed in the dark. It was easier to keep things in the shadows. No one caught their feelings as quickly in the dark. Secrets could remain unknown under the cover of night, yet she found herself rolling over to flip on the lamp on the bedside table. Because, fuck it, there was a first time for everything. Plus, they survived what could have been the end of the world, who gave a shit if she developed feelings for him.

Light flooded the room, burning her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she found herself squinting over at a face that was squinting right back at her. His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and his face was bright red like he had just gone for a run. She couldn’t help but smirk at him. “Let’s go, buckaroo,” she demanded, nodding in his direction. “Shirt off.” He blinked at her sudden commands. “Chip fucking chop.” The mattress groaned beneath her as she propped herself up on her knees. As she pulled her sweatshirt up and over her head, she heard the bed creak beneath the weight of his own shifting. Once her shirt was off and tossed across the room, she found him staring at her in awe, shirt halfway over his head. Eyebrows raised. Face flushed even more. She glanced down, still smirking. “Dude, I was planning on going to bed. I’m not going to wear a fucking bra to bed.” He shook his head, eyes remaining wide as he chucked his own shirt onto the ground. Leaning forward, his hands rested at her sides. The touch was gentle, barely there. His eyes dragged up from her stomach, over her chest, and up to meet her own. “You good?”

It was odd. She had never imagined sleeping with the black coffee guy. He was kind of a doofus, and just from the brief interactions they had, she would have felt bad to dine and dash on him. But nothing was the same as it had been a year and a half ago. Things were broken now for both of them. They stood at opposite ends of a bare room panicking and struggling to pick up all the shattered pieces of their former selves. Then somehow in the midst of a blizzard they met in the middle, hands covered in broken glass and super glue. Ready to not be so isolated for the first time in what felt like ages. Maybe she wondered if he would take her out to dinner at some point. Then if things went from there, she would have rolled with the punches.

“I just… I’ve had a stupid crush on you for a really long time,” he admitted, eyes falling down to her breasts again. “It’s… everything’s better than I imagined.”

“You imagined me naked, Paul?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I mean, you’re allowed to, you horny little shit.”

_ “Emma.” _

She yanked his face up again, so she could regain access to his mouth, tongue sliding in easily. That Optic White toothpaste tasted damn good. It could have just been his mouth, though. Another yelp left her when his hand found a fistful of her hair and pulled her down on top of him. This time, he didn’t pull away. His hand remained buried in her hair. The other wandered from her side and hovered above her chest, suddenly unsure about the move he was going to make. She grabbed the hand in his hesitation to land palm-first on her. “Don’t overthink it,” she breathed against his mouth, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. Sky fucking blue. “If I don’t like it, you bet your ass I’ll fucking tell you.” 

Finally, the look of shock dissipated from his face, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes returned as he laughed. She grinned, capturing his lips once more while moving herself to straddle his hips. His mouth was soft and plush. She would have to ask him what kind of chapstick he used later, but in that moment, she was just grateful for whatever brand it was. His thumb brushed lightly against her nipple. She felt an antsy giggle rise up in her chest. “I liked it when you said my name,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “And when you did whatever the fuck you did there.”

When she backed away to look down at him again, the expression on his face had changed. He appeared less anxious, but something in his eyes had darkened. His eyelids were heavy, eyes sparkling beneath him. She felt herself grinning involuntarily. The hand in her hair fell down and lingered at the waistband of her shorts. Fingers toyed with the untied string that would have normally held them up. Slow teasing movements. He gazed up and down her torso, taking in every inch of skin he could see before looking into her eyes again. “You’re just…  _ really _ fucking pretty, Em,” he told her, thumb running over the curve of her hip. “I didn’t ever think--”

Her lips hit his once more with gusto, taking him by surprise, but he caught up pretty quickly. This time while one hand was buried in her hair, the other clearly went to visit the Wizard of Oz because it clearly found the courage to dip inside her shorts to grip onto her ass. Rather and a high pitched noise, a throaty groan came from her. She grabbed his chin between her index finger and thumb. “Call me that again,” she breathed into his mouth.

The smile that touched his face was contagious. He had nice teeth, she decided. “Em,” he whispered against her lips. Her smile matched his as she softly kissed him again. Less desperation. She was trying to commit things to memory. Wanting to keep this in her mind in case things went back to the way they had been for the past year. “Em.” He rolled them over, so her back was pressed against the mattress. His lips took their turn to leave a trail of light kisses along her skin. The breath hitched in her throat when he hit her collar bone. “Em.” He continued down her chest, leaving a path of nips along the soft skin of her breasts. “Em.” Lips traveled down along her stomach. Through the valleys of her hips. Like he was mapping out her body. Leaving pins in places where he hoped to travel again. His hands ghosted over the waistband of her shorts once again. “Emma, is this--”

“Yes, Paul, it’s fucking okay,” she barked out with a laugh, squirming beneath him.

She had never pictured what it would be like to sleep with the black coffee guy, so Emma a year and a half earlier would never have guessed she would have been gripping onto the hair of said black coffee guy, screaming his name in the middle of a cold snowy Colorado night. But life had proven to be very strange. Though, she wasn’t sure if it was stranger that she was boning the black coffee guy or that her heart was getting involved.

Either way, she was very impressed with his very capable mouth, and for a moment in time, it seemed like Jane and Ted and Tim and Charlotte all seemed to melt away. Hatchetfield was so far in the rearview mirror, it felt like a different lifetime. Hidgens and Tom and Bill were ghosts left in a different house. They were isolated for now. Just the two of them. Even if it was only temporary, as their demons had a bad habit of creeping up on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like writing smut but I hope this was enough to get the point across lmao.


	6. Midnight Excursions In the Key of Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have some issues with mild insomnia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another little guy! Enjoy :D

Emma liked the quiet of the night. She wasn’t super into the fact that she couldn’t sleep some nights, but the nighttime in the middle of five acres of land was a different level of peace. Nothing but darkness for as far as she could see. The lights would remain off as she perched herself on the edge of the couch. On this particular night, she had scooped up her sweatshirt and underwear off of Paul’s floor and slipped through the hall and down the stairs. It was cold. The tiled floor in the kitchen sent chills all the way up her spine. She wrapped her arms around herself, regretting the choice to not even grab her shorts. 

Sliding across the kitchen, she felt around for the handle of the electric kettle, determined to not flip on the lights. A cool sliver of blue shined across the counter, bouncing off the silver of the kettle. As she grabbed the handle, she peeked through the window above the kitchen sink. The sky was clear for the first time in days. The air was still without a single snowflake in sight. The wind had calmed into the lull of a soft breeze. She smiled softly to herself while filling the kettle up with water before placing it back on its stand to heat up. 

On occasion, she liked to have a cup of tea during her middle of the night excursions. There was something soothing in the redundancy of the act. The habitual nature of filling the pot with water. Scooping out just enough tea into the diffuser--tonight, it was a purple tin that was labeled  _ ‘Calming Harmony Blend’ _ . Pouring boiling water into her mug of choice--tonight, it was the small red one with a large  _ ‘B’ _ printed on the side in white, one that had been there when they arrived. Drizzling honey into the hot water that was quickly turning red with the steeping tea leaves--tonight, it was honey from a local farm she had impulsively picked up while driving home from the store one day. 

She could see the steam rise in the pale light of the moon. Light tendrils twisted around in the air, fading off into nothingness when they completed their course. She blew across the top, sending the steam in all different directions. Like the ghost of an octopus was desperately trying to squirm its way out of the mug. Small means of entertainment could be found in the cover of the night, she had found. A trail of steam was left in her wake as she walked back into the living room. Just a whisper of chamomile and lemon on the path like breadcrumbs in the forest. 

The tea rolled down her throat, an old friend warming her insides. Both hands held onto her mug, and the ends of her sleeves became a sort of glove to keep from burning her palms. It was something so simple, but it made everything about not sleeping feel okay. The quiet of the night. The warmth of the tea. Now, the glow of the moon. She wondered if this is what it felt like to a witch in her element. Maybe she drew power from the moon. Maybe there was something in the night that called her. But she was probably just sleep deprived because, if she was drawing power, it was as if the charging cable was broken. 

Beside her, the couch sunk under some sort of weight. “A little late for tea,” he commented with a yawn. She glanced over at him. He had scraped up clothes off of his floor as well clearly. Though, he had gone a different route. No shirt. Just a pair of flannel pajama pants that were printed with the Grinch in various different poses. ‘Tis the season, she figured. A soft grin touched his lips, and she found that she was matching his expression. His hair was a mess, and he looked exhausted. Yet she was smiling at him. Who’d have thought? Not her, that’s for damn sure.

“I was just thinking I’d get an early start on the day at--” she grabbed his wrist to take a peek at the watch he never removed, “--two fifteen in the morning.” His hand fell down into his lap with a light chuckle from him. She moved the mug in his direction. “You want some?” He arched a brow down at her, unsure of what this gesture might have meant. “It tastes like a dreamsicle, and it’s… I don’t know... supposed to be calming or some shit like that I guess? Just try it.” Hesitantly, he took a small sip. His face twisted up in disgust immediately. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad, you gigantic fucking baby.”

“Why is it so sweet?” he asked with his face still slightly squished.

“That’s called honey, asshole. Not everyone likes drinks as bitter as their souls.” The words came out of her mouth before she could even think about them. His face disappeared into the shadows for a moment. Her heart hammered, thinking he had taken her words too literally. “Not that I really meant that. I was just fucking with you.”

Emerging from the shadows again, this time with a grin on his face again, he replied, “I know.” If she had been more awake, she might have given him shit for giving her shit, but in her sleepiness, she was almost impressed. Instead of giving him the usual snarky comeback, she leaned into him with a grunt. “Oh come on, I can get you back just once.”

“No, I don’t think that’s allowed. I’m the only one allowed to do any fucking getting.”

“I don’t know. I think I got you pretty good earlier.”

“Oh my  _ god.” _ He chuckled again and took another sip of the tea he claimed was too sweet before handing it back to her. She watched him look out into the night. Taking in the easy two feet of snow. The way it glimmered like a geode shining in the sun. Like someone had flown through the air and covered the land in a layer of thick glitter. His eyes were more relaxed than they had been earlier. Not going nearly as bug-eyed as they could go. They ran over the night landscape. Reading it like a book. This man was one she didn’t expect to be sitting next to in the middle of the night. To be fair, though, she really didn’t anticipate him being a damn fine lay either, but that was a story for another day. The feelings, however, were creeping in despite the sex. Despite the weird alien trauma. Despite the strange witness protection program-esque situation they’d been thrown into. She had never been one to wish she had parents to bring a presentable partner home to, but for some reason, she wished she could see her mother’s face when she walked through the front door of her childhood home with this big fucking nerd. “Where have you been all my life?” Another case of her filter refusing to go up before she spoke.

He blinked. What was he supposed to say to something like that? She wasn’t even sure what she meant by it, let alone how it was supposed to be responded to. “Um… Hatchetfield,” he answered, straight-faced. “I had  _ literally _ never left the island before coming here.”

“You were serious about that?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I have been?”

“Because… that’s just fucking crazy,” she sighed, sliding in closer to him. “Never?”

“Nope.”

“Not once?”

“No.”

“Not… like one time?”

“How much clearer could I be than saying I never left Hatchetfield.”

“Okay,” she conceded, taking another drink of her tea. An idea struck her, and she sat up straight. “Okay, so if you could go  _ anywhere _ in the whole entire world, where would you go?”

“Oh god, I have no idea,” he sighed as he leaned back on the palms of his hands. “That’s a lot of world I haven't covered in thirty-one years. It’d be a lot to--”

“I didn’t say you had to travel the  _ whole _ world. Just one place.”

Eyes drifted down to her. Fondness beamed down over her entire person. “I don’t know. Here is pretty nice,” he offered. She could guess that he very well was aware that the answer wouldn’t hold up for her, but he said it regardless.

“Ugh, gross.” She shoved his arm. “No, I’m being serious. Just one place. Anywhere in the world.”

“Okay fine, give me a second then.” His head tilted back to look up at the ceiling. The moonlight gently shrouded him in blue light. For a moment, he almost seemed like time had been paused. Like this was a snapshot. A polaroid photo that she wanted to keep in her mind. Him leaning back. Tongue pressed between his teeth. One eye shut. Trying to think of anywhere he would want to go in the whole entire world. His eyebrows raised, and another smile came over his face. “Okay, there’s a place in Turkey. I think it’s Turkey. But there are all these old structures built into the sides of these… rock formations. I think they even might have some underground cities. Like, they even made castles in the rocks. It was amazing when I saw pictures of it in a copy of  _ National Geographic _ my grandmother had lying around her house one summer. And the big thing is taking hot air balloon rides at sunrise over the whole valley.” He looked down to find her staring right back up at him. “I think I’d like to go there.”

“Now,  _ that _ is a fucking place to go, man.” Shoving his shoulder, she attempted to shove down the strange giddy feeling that was rising in her stomach. It’s not like they could go much of anywhere anyway. There were no official rules placed on them by P.E.I.P., but something told her international travel was probably not on the table. “Why didn’t you ever go?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I was comfortable,” he explained, running a hand through his hair. “I was…  _ happy _ in Hatchetfield. It was all I knew. Everyone and everything I ever knew was there, and I thought that was something that I wanted.” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “God, I didn’t ever think I’d  _ miss _ being able to listen to music. Like the fucking Smiths or… I don’t know. Goddamn Pearl Jam.” She understood where he was coming from. The thought of ever hearing  _ Mr. Sandman _ ever again made her feel like driving an ice pick right through her skull just so she wouldn’t have to relive her last shift at Beanies. “I can’t listen to anything besides… anything with acoustic guitars and a fucking ukelele.”

“Oh yeah? That nice calm version of  _ Somewhere Over the Rainbow _ by that Hawaiian dude does it for you these days, huh?”

“Honestly, yeah, and I don’t know who I am.”

“A fucking nerd?”

“I should’ve seen that one coming.”

“I see I’m going to have to come up with some new material. You’ve caught onto my shit-giving.”

“I’m happy to be the guinea pig for the new material.” He laughed again. A soft, musical tone. It made her think about standing behind the counter at Beanies and making a bad joke. Only to be received by laughter that was too loud to really be genuine. A face that was too red and sweaty to actually be invested in the joke. A palpable nervousness that radiated off of him for so many coffee runs. The same stupid suit who had just fucking railed her, and she wasn’t upset about the experience in the slightest. He was soft and anxious but nice. And he clearly very much liked her. “I think… um, I think we… y’know what? Nevermind.”

“Nope. That’s not going to fly. What’s on your mind, big guy? Lay it on me.”

If the light hadn’t been so pale, she would have been able to see the blush on his face. If she had been any closer, she would have been able to hear his heart fluttering in his chest. If she had been in his mind, she would have heard the conflicting voices fighting in his brain. “I think we should go spend a day in Boulder when we get dug out,” he blurted out, eyes wide.

She smirked. “Are you asking me out on a date, Paul?” she teased.

“Yeah… no… maybe. I don’t know!” he blabbered. Suddenly the confidence that had poked through his nervous exterior had deflated. Here was the nerd that caught her eye to begin with. “Only if you want to.”

“Paul, I think I made it pretty obvious that I’m interested.”

“Okay… but I just didn’t want to assume you--”

“Paul, I literally just had some of the best sex I’ve had in  _ years _ , so yes, I would be happy to go on a date with you.”

His eyes were wide again. Was it anxiousness again? Was it shock? Was it fear? “Really?” he responded.

“Yes, Paul, I really would like to go on--”

“No, no, no, no. The other thing.”

“What?” she laughed, eyes catching his again. He stared down at her in complete disbelief. “You didn’t think so?”

“No! I mean,  _ I _ thought so, but I didn’t think you would.”

With an overly dramatic sigh, she turned to him and rested one hand on his cheek. His skin was cold against her fingers. “Paul, you did great out there, and that was the best fucking orgasm I’ve had in a long fucking time,” she told him flat out, smirking deeper when his eyes grew wider. She patted his cheek. “We’ll have to do that again some time. Make sure it wasn’t just some fluke.”

“Wait… really?” he just about yelped in response. A hand clapped over his mouth in embarrassment immediately after.

With an arched brow, she took a sip of her tea. “Y’know what? I think I’ve changed my mind. You’ve questioned it too much, and now it’s just not going to be fun anymore,” she said simply, trying to keep it together as she watched him internally backtrack. The wide eyes were frozen. His brain was trying to calculate what step he needed to be taken next. “Hey, I’m fucking with you, Paul.”

“Right. Okay.” He nodded, letting his hands flop against his thighs. “Okay.” Still nodding, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay.”

“Oh dear god, come on,” she groaned while she stood up, grabbing his hand to drag him with her. “Let’s go back to bed, you fucking moron.” As they moved through the dark downstairs, occasionally illuminated by the full moon hanging in the clear sky, she kept her hand in his. Even when they climbed the stairs, she continued to hold hands with him. Laying in his bed, curled up into his chest, her eyes closed, and she felt her sister and her nephew tattooed into the backs of her eyelids. But his fingers intertwined with hers, and the images felt less angry than they usually did. More like they were just passing through, happy to be together there with her in her mind.

The last thing she took note of before falling asleep was how nice his fingers combing through her hair felt, a small smile sitting on her lips.


	7. Christmas Winners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our dynamic duo finally gets out of the house after the blizzard passes, and they decide it's time to go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will respond to comments in the morning I think because it's almost 2 AM here, but I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY I JUST WANTED TO GET THIS OUT.
> 
> Also watch out for some familiar faces in here ;)

It was the evening before Christmas Eve when a plow rolled down to the end of the long driveway. Neither one of them had called for a plow. They never did, yet each and every snow storm that blew through, the strange black tow truck would roll through. That night they crouched in the front window, watching to see if the driver was visible in the dim light of winter’s early dusk. Every time Paul rose just a little to get a better look, he was yanked back down. On the other hand, each time Emma turned to whisper something about how weird it was, he immediately shushed her. If anyone had been there, it would have been like watching a couple of kids spying on their parents. Luckily, they were able to act like idiots alone, regardless of if they knew they were acting like that or not.

When she decided she wanted to give whoever was driving a tip, she dashed into the kitchen, grabbed a ten dollar bill out of her wallet, and rushed back to the front door, only to open it to find a quiet, dark, empty driveway. After a brief and ultimately fruitless battle about how it was his fault for letting the plow person leave, they retreated back into the kitchen where she proceeded to go on a long rant about how she thought P.E.I.P. was keeping constant surveillance of them. He just listened and watched her emphatically make her points over the glass of red wine she had poured for him. The wine in her glass sloshed around as she went on a tirade over the fact that they could probably never travel. In the span of a few days, their relationship had gone from leaving a piece of paper attached to the fridge to make a joint grocery list and the occasional chat on the couch in the middle of the night to talking about  _ their _ plans for a future that  _ they _ were going to be partaking in  _ together. _ The thought made him smile into the glass.

Mid-rant, she stopped to pull him down by the collar for a chaste kiss. When he asked her what that had been for, she simply stated that she was making up for lost time before taking a large gulp of wine and continuing with her tangent. Suddenly, the year they spent disconnected felt like empty air. Like there had been a blip in the system. As if this is what their first few days in Colorado should have been: discussing what happened and how they were coping with it. Also lots of various flavors of booze. She liked how much he listened to her. How he would quietly stand in the corner as she went on and on about a whole lot of nothing. He would chip in when needed and nod when appropriate, but he just let her go. Run wild with her words.

In the midst of her spiel, she paused, looking directly at him. Her eyes narrowed, and it made him feel like he could just crawl away. Mostly because he had no idea what she was doing, but also the fear of her instantaneously changing her mind about things was loud in his head. Rather than uprooting the speed round of progress they had made, however, she suggested that they go into town the next morning. Spend that day in Boulder.  _ “Christmas is coming up. Maybe Santa’s got some shit there for us.” _ The first feeling was relief. The second was a wave of nervousness that washed over him at the thought of their first date. A feeling that manifested so clearly on his face, it was like she was reading a goddamn book.

They decided to hit downtown Boulder. Neither one of them had actually gone into the city and checked out any sort of attraction there, but the Pearl Street Mall was as good a place as any to start. The air was still bitter, blowing around them. Slicing against their faces. Before leaving the house, they bundled themselves up in their coats. Paul’s: a navy blue wool jacket buttoned up to a red scarf that peeked out at his neck. Emma’s: an olive green parka with faux fur around the hood, zipped all the way up to her chin. She looked up at him, tucking her smile into her coat. The tip of his nose and cheeks were tinged pink with the cold, but there was a bright grin on his face that made him look a little younger. A little less plagued by all the guilt that weighed him down on a daily basis. Her heart skipped a beat.

She took notice of him casually following her around shops as she peered into windows and over shelves. When she would pull something off of a shelf and comment on it, he would sometimes nod in agreement or tilt his head and squint if he didn’t really understand what would make her even consider whatever she was showing off. She imagined what Jane must have felt like with her handful of boyfriends over the years. Going off to the Lakeside Mall or through the Christmas Village when it came around. Waltzing through the farmer’s market every second and fourth Sunday in June and July. There was this urge to loop her arm through his as they traipsed down Pearl Street. The smell of coffee didn’t help. It was the first cup of joe she had since the disaster. He had admitted it was the same for him. They both ordered as they usually would. Emma with a splash of milk and two sugars. Paul with nothing and nothing. Just a black coffee. No frills. Nothing fancy. She bit down on the inside of her lip and held back the feeling that she should’ve grabbed his hand as they walked.

Eventually, they split up to drift into different stores. It was something they had agreed upon back at the house. They were going to have a proper Christmas. Even if it was actually on Christmas Eve. There was no point in wrapping up gifts. The plan was to just show each other whatever they had picked up as soon as they were back. It wasn’t meant to be anything crazy expensive or emotional for either of them. Just a first Christmas as whatever they were. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she did feel confident that she was going to win with her gift. Not that it was a contest, but she still thought she would win. He was someone she hadn’t known very well prior to a few days beforehand, yet shopping for his Christmas gift felt natural. Like it was the easiest thing in the whole world. When she picked things up, it was like puzzle pieces falling into place.

One PM was the time they agreed to meet up in front of the bookstore. The suggestion was his, admittedly because he wanted to go in there to buy something for himself. Because he allegedly couldn’t go by a bookstore without going in and picking up a book. Like clockwork, he was there. Right on time, but not alone. There was a little girl standing in front of him. She couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. Pigtail braids. Backwards baseball cap. Patched, baggy jeans. She looked up at him with a horrified expression. Fearful. Something that didn’t make sense in relation to who she was staring at. Paul was literally the least intimidating person in the whole world. 

Picking up her pace across the busy street, Emma found herself beside him, and the little girl’s expression softened. “Hey,” she greeted softly, touching Paul’s arm. His face was filled with almost as much relief as the girl’s. “What’s… um, what’s going on here?”

“The protector,” the girl sighed, smiling to herself before she looked back at him. There was a beat of silence while she looked between the two of them. Eyes darting back and forth like she was looking to them for her next comments. Her gaze stopped on him again. “Webby says you’ll be safe… and the dreams will stop someday.” 

From the bohemian clothing store next door, a young woman bounded out. The horrified expression on her face was different from the girl’s. Less scared. More exhausted and angry. “Ha… Carly!” the woman called out, and the girl turned to look at her. The young woman looked tired. Dark circles under her eyes. Hollowed out cheeks. Strong jawline. She was young, though. She appeared to be too young to be the girl’s mother, though. “What’re you  _ doing? _ Leave these people--”

“Hey! L--Sadie, why’d you run outta there like that? They thought we were stealin’ shit. Had to talk myself out of a real stupid situation there,” a young man, similar in age to the woman, called out with a bag in one of his hands. He was tall and lean. Fair with a head of dark, curly hair that was slicked back to reveal a singular earring. His eyes narrowed when he saw the group crowded in the street. “The hell is goin’ on here?”

“I have  _ no _ clue, but  _ Carly _ and me were just telling these nice people that we were sorry,” the woman explained as she grabbed the girl’s hand. She turned to Paul and Emma with apologetic eyes. “We are  _ so _ sorry. Sometimes… she just does stuff, and we can’t get her to stop. I’m just… sorry.” They dashed off in the direction of the young man, who had kept his position outside the clothing store. In their haste, Emma could have sworn she heard the girl going on incessantly about  _ ‘the catalyst’ _ and  _ ‘safe’ _ . None of which made sense. “Merry Christmas!” the young woman shouted over her shoulder with a wave.

The two stood there for a moment after the bizarre encounter, staring at the trio completely puzzled as to what had just happened. Emma was the first to speak, “What the fuck was that?”

“I, um, think that’s exactly why we don’t go out places,” Paul offered as a solution.

“Mm, fair enough,” she replied. “Maybe it’s a sign we should go home and crack open that second bottle of wine.”

He glanced down at her, a small smile on his lips. “Presents and wine? I think I could get behind that,” he agreed, looking back at the bookstore. “Next time, though, books.”

They started off in the direction of the parking garage they had left his car in. “You’re a big stupid nerd,” she snorted. Without looking up, she could tell he was rolling his eyes above the grin that just wouldn’t quit. Then, despite what every instinct in her body told her, she looped her arm through his. He took a sharp breath in and the smile grew. “Don’t yuck it up over there, bub.”

\--------

Back at the house, they sat at opposite ends of the couch with their oversized wine glasses. Bing Crosby played quietly in the background. Soft enough to go unnoticed. Loud enough to make it so that the house wasn’t silent. She leaned back, laughing at something he had said. He stared at her with an open-mouth grin. Awe-filled. Excited. Like, a kid on Christmas. It was fitting, as he claimed earlier in the day that he loved Christmas back in Hatchetfield. That there was something warm and happy that filled his heart during the holidays. She called him a nerd, but really, she thought it was sweet. It was just way too early to admit that without more alcohol in her system.

Two bags sat on the floor in front of the couch. She leaned over and pulled up the one that was beside her. A soft plastic bag with an intricate tree design on the side of it. “Okay, so I’m pretty sure I  _ fucking _ killed it,” she announced as she thrusted the bag in his direction. He chuckled, taking the parcel and carefully opening it while looking back up at her. “Don’t fucking laugh. I did a greatass job.”

He shook his head as he pulled out a sweater. It was a deep red fishermen sweater. Perhaps it was hand knit. He couldn’t tell, not that he really cared. “This is really nice,” he told her honestly. The sweater was something he would definitely wear. In fact, as soon as he washed it, he would probably wear it right away. The material was soft and had a good weight to it. Something nice for when the next blizzard came to town. “Thank you, Emma.”

She jutted her chin out toward the bag. “There’s more,” she stated with a smug grin. With an arched brow, he looked back in the bag and pulled out a small envelope with the name of a bicycle shop printed on the front. He narrowed his eyes as he opened it, eyes turning downward as he looked over the contents. “I know you used to ride your bike to work sometimes, and you don’t have one here.  _ And _ I really couldn’t think of a way for me to get a whole bike here without you catching on.  _ Also _ I know jack shit about bikes.”

Blinking, he stared down at the gift card. He ran a hand over his face, stopping over his mouth. Another beaming smile was growing on his lips. His eyes darted up to her, shining. “This is… this is really… thank you,” he stumbled out. “Em, this was… really thoughtful. Now, I’m kind of embarrassed. I don’t know that I can hold a candle to this.”

“Hit me with it, baby cakes!” she hollered, holding her hands out. Without dropping the gift card, he handed her a paper bag. There was a solid weight to it, which she raised her eyebrows at. Inside, there were rolled up papers. Almost as if it was stuffing the back itself. He pulled at one of the pieces of paper, only to find that it was wrapped around something. It unraveled easily from the item to reveal a handmade stoneware coffee mug. Soft grey with pebbling on the bottom half. Inside, it was blue. She glanced up at him with a smile, and he nodded toward the bag. The second paper was just as easy to pull off the second mug. Similar in looks. A little different in size and shape, as was to be expected with a handmade item. The inside of the second was green. “Paul, these are fucking sick! How cool!”

His fingers toyed with the sweater that laid across his lap as he watched her. “There’s something else,” he explained. With an excited grin, she reached back into the bag. “But I don’t know if you’ll like it. It was just something cool, and it made me think of you. If you don’t like it, we could always bring it back.” A small black box emerged with her hand from the bottom of the bag. “I’m sorry if--” she opened the box, “--you don’t like it. And listen--”

“Paul.”

“It’s okay if you don’t--”

“Paul!” His mouth snapped shut. “This is… I don’t know. This is really… good.” It was a ring. Thin gold band with a tiny black unfinished stone. She pulled it out of its box and placed it on a finger. The exact one he had hoped for. “And it fucking fits. Are you a fucking wizard?”

He shrugged. “You wore a ring on your middle finger for a while,” he commented. “I know it’s a stupid thing to notice, but one day you stopped wearing it. I saw that in the store with the mugs, and I don’t know. It looked like something you would like.”

“That ring was… it was Jane’s,” she started, twisting the new ring around her middle finger. “She gave it to me before I left. I used to wear it everyday, but I took it off during one of… during a lab class one day. And it was just gone. Fucking grew legs and walked away.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t--”

“No, it’s okay. You didn’t know, and this is… this is really nice. It’s… I love it. Thank you.”

Her face twisted up, thinking about the colliding of the past and the present. About Jane and how she missed her every single day. Another level of regret. A layer she couldn’t seem to pull back as hard as she tried. It was like she was trying to peel a sticker off of a surface and it just kept breaking apart, leaving a trail of adhesive and paper. She continued to run her finger over the harsh edges of the stone, eyes locked on it. The fact that he had noticed was something else. She thought she was so clever with the bike, but he went above and beyond with the thought he put into her. Where had he been before she felt so jaded about everything? Before things were so broke? 

When she did look up, he was leaning toward her with his glass in hand again. “Good Christmas?” he offered with a small smile, trying to change the subject that was clearly making her uncomfortable or upset. Probably both. “I think it’s a pretty good make-up Christmas for last year.”

She couldn’t deny the smile that was peeking through. From the coffee table, she grabbed her own wine glass and leaned in toward him. “Good Christmas,” she agreed as she knocked their drinks together, leaving a resounding clink. They lingered in the middle for just a moment. Her eyes stuck to him like glue. Less like glue perhaps. No, it was more like the feeling of not wanting to let go of a warm and safe hug. Like it would just be easier to stay wrapped up in those arms. She found herself in a place where she could look at his dumb lovestruck face all day. Rather than continuing to stare at him, though, she pushed herself forward to press a simple soft kiss on his lips. No ulterior motives. The only expression she could possibly give him for just how good of a Christmas it was so far. Maybe even one of her best, not that she was ready to admit that. She knocked her forehead against his for a moment, opening her eyes to find his looking right back at her. “Merry Christmas, Paul.”


	8. A Surprise Guest Brings the Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We jump forward a year and Paul and Emma have a very interesting set of guests show up at their house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this little thing! I really enjoyed writing it! Thank you so much to everyone for reading :'D
> 
> (also I swear I will respond to comments. I meant to this weekend but the Last of Us came out. And nothing else got done.)

_One Year Later_

After that first night, Emma never went back to sleep in her own bed. Never went back to her own room. Things that belonged to her just gradually began to manifest in Paul’s room. It started with the clothes she would leave on the floor that he would ultimately pick up and throw into his hamper. Then her cell phone charger appeared in the outlet next to the side of the bed she slept on. Little things really. Like the little crystal bowl she kept her earrings and ring in when she took them off before bed. A line of her shoes underneath her side of the bed. _Her_ side. She could remember the first time he referred to it as such. It was subtle. Nothing big. She just walked in one night, pulling her hair down from the bun it had been in all day. He hadn’t been sure when or if she was coming to bed, so he stationed himself in the middle of the bed. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He really had just fallen into bed with his book and just stayed where he landed. She stood at the side of the bed with her hands on her hips and a sideways smirk on her lips. _“Alright, move your ass off my side of the bed.”_

They never explicitly talked about what exactly they were doing. It was easier to go about their days with added little perks here or there. Upon moving out to Colorado, they were both set up on career paths P.E.I.P deemed suited for them. He spent his days doing freelance editing jobs. Sitting at his computer at the kitchen table most days with a thick stack of printed papers filled with red pen and highlighted passages. Sometimes she would sit across from him and drink her tea in the morning while he scribbled notes to himself for later when he went back in and made suggestions. _“You know you chew the ends of your pens to shit. One of these days you’re going to end up swallowing fucking ink.”_ He looked up with eyebrows raised, the end of his pen still between his teeth. With a chuckle and a grin, she stood from the table and walked to stand behind him, gazing out the back door into the seemingly endless property. 

She ended up doing this frequently. At least once a week, he noted. Sauntering up beside him. Sometimes, she would lean into his chair, lightly onto his shoulder even. Fingers one day began to run mindlessly through his hair. It was a habit he grew extremely fond of. Especially on days when he had been up combing through other people’s words since three in the morning when he couldn’t sleep any longer. Seeing her lumber down into the kitchen, muttering something along the lines of a ‘good morning’ while she prepared tea for herself and for him as well on occasion, was a strange bright spot in his days that he didn’t tell anyone about. Well, he didn’t tell her. That was really all he had left. He wasn’t entirely sure when it happened, but one day, he started matching her casual touches. Mostly it would be a hand on her thigh, lightly stroking his thumb on the outside of her leg. Other days, his arm would wrap around her hips and rest at her hip.

Then came the day where things began to change slightly. Shift and morph into something new. Different. It was the same morning as always. The only thing that changed was the season. In this case, it was early spring. She kept coming around after all the ice and snow had melted, which almost made the nightmares worth it. Not quite. But almost. She stood beside him for a long time, sipping on her tea every now and then. Her hand fell down to trace imaginary circles on his chest at some point. When both of his hands were occupied actually focusing on what he was doing, he, in a brazen state, pressed a light kiss against the arm reaching towards his chest. The circles ceased immediately, and everything felt like it was going to close in on him. He had miscalculated. 

Or so he thought. Instead, her hand crept up to tug his face up to look at her. Within a split second, her lips were on his. Deep. Quiet. Trying to convey a message he couldn’t quite translate. But he was more than happy to return the sentiment. He had spent so long just wanting to talk to her. Even get her name. Then here they were, kissing in the kitchen of the house they were placed in by some very secretive, somewhat shady branch of the government. They slept in the same bed every night. He got to bang the latte hottay. Everything had gone in a very strange direction after the storm. When she pulled away, still holding his chin between her thumb and forefinger, all he could think about was that god awful burnt coffee he drank for so many months just so he could see her again. Her eyes scanned over his face, mouth slightly ajar. They landed directly on his. _“I think I love you, black coffee guy.”_

He was upset that it took the end of the world to get them together. There were times when he wondered what it would have been like to bring her to dinner with Bill and Alice. To meet her nephew and asshole brother-in-law. To go out to dinner with her only to have Melissa snooping around in his business after seeing him out on a date. To wake up to her sitting on the couch in his living room, watching some re-run with his cat curled up beside her. To bring her to his company holiday party, the first time he wouldn’t have been alone. To have her come to a very uncomfortable family Christmas, where she would almost stab his father across the table with a butter knife for saying something generally nasty. This was not his reality, though. That life died in the gas leak with the other 72,256 inhabitants of Hatchetfield. It was odd how life seemed to keep marching onward despite an entire island and its residents being blown off the face of this earth. Life hadn’t been fair to either of them. To all of the people on the island, but as Emma liked to remind him, if life was fair, everyone would be eating fucking bonbons while taking a giant shit on their solid gold toilets.

So he decided he would settle for spending the entirety of Christmas morning lazing about in bed with her. It had been a year since the blizzard. Since, everything felt like someone had hit the fast forward button and forgot to take their finger off. It felt like they had managed to experience the feelings associated with years of a relationship in the span of twelve months. A first date, albeit a drunken night at home where they talked about a lot deeper emotions than either one of them had expressed on a date ever. A first kiss, tasting of bile and bacon. A first fight. It was over whether or not a teflon pan could be put through the dishwasher. The short answer: it should not have gone through the dishwasher. They screamed at each other across the kitchen, Emma in the doorway and Paul by the sink. Both reactions were later admitted to be overreactions while they sat on the floor of the living room and apologized, quietly explaining the stress or trauma that was bugging either one of them that day.

“What’re you thinking about?” she mumbled, her chin resting on his chest to look at him. Her eyes were warm and constantly watching. Taking in things he did and said to remember for later. They felt familiar. Like a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer. Every time he looked at her, it was like he was seeing her for the first time but simultaneously feeling as though he had been looking fondly at her for the last several lifetimes he lived. They were like honey. Almost golden as the sun poured over her face. “Hey, weirdo.” She waved her hand in front of his face. “You in there?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I am,” he replied as he ran one hand over his face. The other was running up and down her bare back. Fingertips trailed along her spine, starting at the base of her neck and running just down to her waist. A sleepy smile found its way to his face. His eyes wandered up to the ceiling, and he sighed. “I’m thinking about how this is a pretty okay way to spend Christmas.” Really, he was thinking about the times they would go out and they would get labeled differently from place-to-place. At the small candle shop just outside of Boulder, she told him that the woman ringing her up referred to him as _“her boyfriend”_ and doubled-back to _“her partner”_ when Emma’s eyes went wide. At the bookstore, he had told her quietly that he would be right back, but while he strode over to the bathroom, he could hear the young cashier bringing his pre-order over speaking to her. _“Here ya go, Mrs. Bridges… oh, no. I’m sorry! I just… partners? You’re right. It does sound more fun.”_ When they went out to dinner at a nicer restaurant, she had to run back out to the car for something, and the waitress was going over drink specials with him. _“Does your wife like a mixed drink or beer?”_ Paul didn’t correct her terminology, but simply stated that Emma liked the kind of drink with alcohol in it and that she wasn’t picky. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t believe you,” she told him, drumming her fingers against his skin. “Talk to me, Goose.”

“I’m just happy,” he explained. It was true. The gaping wounds left by the apotheosis could begin to heal a little easier when someone was there to stop the constant rubbing of salt in them. There were nights he woke up screaming. Crying. Watching Bill crumple to the floor. Some of his blood had spattered onto his shirt. Paul hadn’t even noticed until they were off the island. In the mirror, there were small droplets of blood and gore marring his skin like demented freckles. One night, he found himself in the bathroom scrubbing at his face. He couldn’t get them off, but he was sure that the flecks of his best friend’s blood and brains were still on his face. His skin felt raw, but it still wouldn’t come off. She had materialized beside him and pulled his wrists down between them. There were words leaving her lips, but he couldn’t hear her. Everything sounded like static on a TV. But she talked and she talked until he could hear her again. _“Paul? Come on. Fucking give me something here, man. Can you give me some… I don’t know. Fucking sign that you can hear me.”_ He had blinked and nodded at her. Hands moved from his wrists to his cheeks. _“Come back to bed, okay?”_

“Hmm. Fucking nerd,” she mused while her fingers twirled around the light tufts of hair in the middle of his chest. “But also, good because I don’t fucking think that P.E.I.P. would be willing to give us two new identities just so you could get away from me.”

“I don’t know. I think if I asked the general really nicely--”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“It just hasn’t been the same. The hopeless pining really added some excitement, and now that it’s over, I think this whole thing has really lost its magic.”

“I’m glad you said it because I was thinking the same thing.”

“Yeah, I actually find you repulsive now, so it’s really good we’re on the same page here. I don’t know--” He was cut off by her lips. A laugh escaped into his mouth. He could feel her smiling against his lips. “Oh man.” Another brush of the lips. “Yep.” Soft contact on his jaw. “This is the fucking worst.” A kiss at the base of his throat. “Disgusting honestly.” 

She threw her leg over his hips, and he found himself staring up at her, naked as the day she was born. Leaning down to kiss right behind his ear, a breathy chuckle sent a shiver down his spine. “You bring a sword to bed, or is your penis just happy to see me?” she wondered, dragging her lips down his neck.

A year earlier he might have just laughed nervously. “Oh, that’s my penis,” he answered simply. His hands found her hips, and once again, a throaty laugh hit his skin. “Stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing _at_ you,” she insisted, sitting up again. Nails ran lightly over his chest. Her face was slightly flushed. Hair fell all around her in dark curls. She didn’t wear it down often, but he sure did enjoy the moments where she did have her hair down. Not that she didn’t look good with her hair up. There was just something almost ethereal about her in the morning light with her mane doing whatever it pleased. “I’m just happy.” Once again, her lips were on his. Fiery this time. She had a mission, and her hand dipping between them made her intentions very clear.

She felt amazing. He had been certain she was just a stupid crush. One that would fade away whenever she decided to move on from Beanies. Then he would never see her again. That wouldn’t make him stop thinking of her. No, she would have been his one who got away. But she wasn’t. They not only survived the apocalypse together, but she also fought for them to be placed together in their witness protection-esque living space. He was only supposed to escort her out to Colorado before heading to the spot they originally intended for him in Helena, Montana. She was having none of that, though, and somewhere along the way, she convinced them to have Ben Bridges and Kelly King living together in that sizable house outside of Boulder. She was there because she wanted to be. The crabby barista was with him. Slept in the same bed as him. _Loved_ him. And shit, she was riding the ever living fuck out of him on Christmas morning. The guilt of surviving was heavy, but if he had to survive, this wasn’t a bad way to do it.

His hand was on the back of her head, pulling her down to meet his lips. She groaned into his mouth all while keeping a steady pace on top of him. This was one of the biggest things (aside from her openly and casually admitting that she loved him) he had never expected to be partaking in. Sleeping with the cute snarky barista Ted wouldn’t let up on him about? That was not in the cards. Not even something that he thought would have vaguely come up in any situation, yet here they were, very much having sex in a bed they both slept in every night. He pulled her closer and snaked his tongue into her mouth. A yelp left her, but he could feel her smirk.

“Someone’s feeling confident today,” she sighed into his mouth with a breathy chuckle. His hand reached up and cupped her breast. Another moan in response as her fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Very fucking confident. Santa bring you ‘let Paul be bold in bed’ juice because you were such a good fucking boy this year?”

With an arched brow, a smirk twinged at the corners of his lips. “Was I, though?” he inquired, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh _my_ god,” she laughed while tossing her head back. She leaned back in but held his chin in the palm of her hand. “Is _that_ what you’re into? Or is this something that Ben was sort of into that Paul wants to give a shot?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re kind of bleeding together lately,” he said with a rasp in his voice that made her eyebrows shoot up. He didn’t tell her, but he had found some documentation when he was clearing through some of the boxes they never bothered to unpack in the move over two years prior. Birth certificates. Social Security cards. Passports. Buried toward the bottom, he found one piece of paper that made him sit wide-eyed for a number of minutes before placing it at the very back of the filing cabinet he was organizing everything into. The words were tattooed into his mind. 

_To any person or religious society Authorized by Law to Perform the Marriage Ceremony:_

_Greeting:_

_You are hereby authorized to join in marriage_

_Mr. Benjamin Peter Bridges_

_Of Denver, Colorado_

_And Miss Kelly Elena King_

_Of Alexandria, Virginia_

He couldn’t say he was entirely shocked that this was something snuck in there after all the winking done by the colonel as they left and the heavy handed talk of love and human spirit by the general the night of the disaster, but it still made his heart race in his chest. Paul and Emma were just a couple of strangers. Ben and Kelly, however, were married. According to the date on the license, they had been married for a number of years. Since 2012. The better part of a decade. His thumb ran over the edge of the paper. Almost as if he were pondering it. Thinking of where it should’ve gone or who he should’ve told about it. He settled on placing it in the folder labeled _“Colorado”._

It was something that weighed in his mind. There were many years he thought about if he would ever get married. If he would ever even find someone who would put up with him for that long. He was a little weird and neurotic. Anxious a lot. He didn’t go out much and really didn’t want to. Better off at home for a calm night in. He wasn’t one to take risks. Everything was safer if he just stayed in one place. Unmoving. No risks. No rewards. But whatever she muttered into his mouth seemed to breathe the life back into him. Maybe into him for the very first time. Her words turned into light laughs, which morphed into a small choked moan. “Paul.” His name left her lips like a prayer. Quiet and pleading. God, if he got this for even just a little while longer, he’d take whatever risks she wanted him to.

Then a knock came from the front door.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, ceasing her movements.

“Maybe if we don’t get up, they’ll just go away,” he offered as he tugged her face back down to his. A pouding came from the door this time around. They both jumped at the sound. Then the doorbell.

“I don’t think they’re going away,” she sighed. Her head dropped into the nape of his neck while another knock came. “Alright, I think I better get it.” She glanced between them. “Don’t move. We’re not fucking done here, bub.” When she slid her body off of his, he groaned like a petulant child. “Oh please, you waited a whole fucking year to start hitting this ass, so I think you’ll make it another five minutes.”

“We’ve got to make up for lost times.”

She had been slipping the t-shirt he had been wearing the night before but stopped dead in her tracks to roll her eyes. “Oh, give me a fucking break,” she grumbled, glancing back at the door when the knocks downstairs became more urgent. “You can fucking wait. Oh my fucking god.” She leaned over him and captured his lips. Deep and hard. Like she was throwing all the times she didn’t kiss him goodbye into one moment. If she hadn’t moved quickly, he was about to pull her back down into bed. A grin danced across her lips, mischievous. “Now, you’ll get more of that if you’re good.” She squeezed his chin in her hand, looking down at him. Eyes dark and clouded with lust. “But you’ve gotta behave.”

With her moving towards the door, he threw himself back first onto the bed. “Jesus _fuck,”_ he moaned up toward the ceiling.

“Wow, fucking rude. Don’t demand things of Jesus _on his birthday_ ,” she shot back. He rolled his head to look at her. One of his purple JMU t-shirts and the pair of leggings they had worked together shimmy off her as they tumbled into bed. Her hair was piled on top of her head in some messy updo. Bare face. Shit-eating smile. He swallowed hard. “Plus, it’s not going to be Jesus doing the fucking around here, buddy. Know who’s got your fucking goose.” 

“Emma!”

“Yeah, exactly. Now, you’re catching on!” The doorbell rang again, and she began down the hallway. “I’m fucking coming!” Her head poked back into the doorway. “That better be what’s coming out of my mouth later.” This time, he laughed, allowing his head to flop back onto the pillows. “If there’s a murderer outside, they better put your dick on trial because you couldn’t go grab the door with a massive boner,” she called to him from the stairs. She was funny. He liked laughing at her quick wit and mean tongue. There was never a dull moment in conversation. Never a second to think of his own comebacks. She already had one for whatever he was going to say. He ran a hand over his face while pulling the sheets up over his naked body. A little bit of decency just in case he was about to get murdered.

The door opened with a shriek. She kept talking about how she needed to get some WD-40 onto the hinges, yet everyday, she didn’t do it. One of these days, he figured he would just get it done, but there was something entertaining in watching her kick herself for not doing it sooner. “What the hell--oh, hey… guys?” her greeting began. He sat up in bed, suddenly feeling like the homicide option wasn’t that far fetched anymore. “What are you doing here? It’s… nine AM on Christmas morning. Don’t--” A male voice cut her off. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but the voice was low and serious. His stomach sank. At the very least, the mood was being murdered viciously. “I see.” A woman’s voice this time. Just as severe. Both were oddly familiar. “Ben, make yourself decent! We’ve got visitors!”

He all but tripped into a pair of PJ pants. This pair was a gift from Emma for Christmas, printed with illustrations of Buddy the Elf’s face with various quotes from _Elf_ printed throughout the faces. A plain white t-shirt did him just fine as he scrambled down the hall and the stairs to stand beside her at the door. “Hey, is everything… oh.” His eyes caught the sight of their visitors. A set of steely eyes stared back at him from a bearded face framed by golden waves. The second set of eyes held an arched brow above the round blue saucers. Emma had commented once that they had reminded her of his all that time ago. “Morning, general. Colonel.”

“Good morning, Benjamin,” General John McNamara of the United States military greeted with a nod before turning his attention to Emma. “Miss King.”

“Yep, already said ‘hey’, but okay.”

“Merry Christmas to you both,” Colonel Schaffer added without any break in her stern demeanor. “We have a few items of interest to you.” The general turned back to walk out to the large black SUV that was parked in the middle of the driveway. “And we’re obligated to check to make sure there has been no slip of classified information--”

“I barely leave the house.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t want to talk to _people.”_

A whisper of a smile hit the colonel’s. Emma pinched Paul’s side as if to alert him that they had won something he didn’t even know they were trying to win. At the end of the walkway, he could see General McNamara approaching with a bag in one hand and what appeared to be some sort of pet carrier in the other. All the way down the path, there was a whining sound following the general that definitely wasn’t attached to the man, but it was familiar no less. He placed the carrier onto the porch, and that was when the sound hit him. Meowing. “We have been slowly but surely clearing out Hatchetfield of its infected. It is a tedious yet rewarding duty, but we have been collecting items that--”

He knew that meow. “Janis?” he whispered. The meowing stopped and then came back full throttle. A small face pushed against the slats in the carrier’s door.

The general took a moment from his speech to bend down and open the small carrier. A ball of calico fluff went running directly at Paul, who had lowered himself to the ground to meet the cat. “As I was saying, the clearing of Hatchetfield has been long and dangerous. We’ve lost some good folks out there.” The colonel hung her head solemnly. “But in the spirit--”

“General McNamara, has a soft spot for the sentimental things in life.” Colonel Schaffer reached into the bag he had been holding and pulled out two small binders. One was brightly colored in neon rainbows. The other appeared to be a photo album. “For you, Kelly. Found at one…” She looked down at the sticky note attached to the front of the photo album. “Houston residence.”

On the corner of the cover of the brightly colored binder, four letters were printed neatly: _Jane._ Emma ran her thumb over the permanent marker. “Thank you,” she said softly without taking her eyes off of the books in her hands. “This is… nice.”

“And for Benjamin--”

“Ben,” Paul corrected as if he actually went by the name in private. The cat was curled into his chest. His eyes were shining with what she could only imagine were tears brimming in them. 

“For _Ben_ ,” the general continued, holding out a small velvet bag. “And Miss King.” Another small bag. “I’m afraid there wasn’t much else to retrieve from the city. The infected grow more hostile each day they aren’t able to spread the pathogen. We’ve rounded up the house pets we could get and hold them in a shelter at P.E.I.P. HQ until they can be rehomed, but the personal items--”

“Those were _his_ doing.”

The general huffed before lighting up a cigarette. “Well, Eleanor, there is no reason why we can’t allow ourselves a few of life’s pleasures,” he stated simply, looking over to Paul. “Taking the time to enjoy a cup of joe in the morning, eh, son?”

“Um, yes, sir.”

“What about you, Kelly? Do you like a morning cup of coffee?”

“Not really,” she answered, narrowing her eyes as she hugged the books to her chest. “In my defense, though, I worked in a shitty coffee shop for too many fucking years, so there’s that.”

Before the general could jump back in, the colonel took her opportunity. “Well, that will be all from us. Did you need anything?” Wide-eyed, they both shook their heads. Paul buried his face into Janis’s fur to hide the tear that had slipped down his cheek. “Alright, then. It’s been a pleasure, Kelly. Ben.” 

“Yes, if there’s anything you need, you know where to find us.” With that, they were headed back to the blacked out SUV. When the general opened and shut the back door, having not fully shut it the first time, Paul could have sworn he saw a pile of other various items and knick knacks. Curious. A backseat full of them.

“No, we really don’t!” Emma called out, but the doors were already closed, the car already backing down the driveway. “Fucking weird, huh?”

“Yeah… I mean.” The purring was constant. Paws kneaded into his chest. “Yeah.” He kissed the top of the cat’s head. His full attention turned to the little furball in his arms. “Hi, honey,” he breathed, scratching at her chin. 

There were more tears budding in his eyes. “Come on,” Emma sighed, guiding him back into the house and nudging the door closed behind them. “You’ve got some catching up to do.”

\--------

“She’s pretty cute,” Emma commented as Janis paced back and forth on the couch between them. Lingering longer at Paul, leaning into him. Nuzzling into his side. She held her hand out and let in run all the way down her back.

“I think she likes you,” he commented. He knocked his bottle of beer back. In the middle of the cat’s path sat the other items they had received. They remained unopened. Untouched. Neither one of them had changed after the early morning visit from the colonel and general. A little stunned. The mood prior had definitely been killed. If not by anything else, Janis was really throwing a wrench into the way they had initially intended to spend the day. Mostly in bed. “I can’t believe she’s here.”

“I can’t believe she gets to keep her fucking name.”

“Yeah, Janis, it’s really not fair,” he chuckled, rubbing his thumb against the tag on her collar. It was new. Not the one he had back on the island. It was a small metal fish with engraved words on either side. “But your name does suit you.” The first side of the tag read: _JANIS._ Simple. Something he had included himself. The other side, however, was what had changed.

_2 Silver Snake Ridge_

_Eerie, CO 80026_

_Ben: 303-214-0921_

_Kelly: 303-330-7724_

“How you feeling, big guy?”

His eyes fell onto the cat again. She was situating herself to curl up into his side as though no time had passed. As if she had just come in after a long day outside. He looked back up to Emma, who was leaning over the back of the couch, propping her head up with one hand while the other held her beer. She watched him right back, a small smile lingering on her lips. Not a fully happy smile. Almost bittersweet. He wondered what it would have been like to sit like this on his old couch in his little house. Just a tiny intimate family Christmas. The term struck him as odd the first time it rolled into his mind, but he continued to revisit it every now and again. It felt especially relevant having his cat come home. 

“The Christmases keep getting better. Santa’s going to have some big shoes to fill next year.” She hummed in agreement, thumbing the pages of the photo album. Her eyes gazed down at it almost as if she were in a daze. “You get anything good?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes snapped up to him. “Oh yeah, I… Jane used to like collected pictures. She got this camera for her thirteenth birthday, and I swear we were at the store getting photos developed every other week.” She took a sip of her beer and looked up at the ceiling like she was trying to remember the story she was attempting to tell. “I don’t know. She had that camera and eventually got a polaroid, and it was fucking over for me then. Pictures all the goddamn time. I think she ended up keeping all that shit because that’s what’s in here.” She flipped the book open to a page towards the middle. There were several polaroid photos stuck beneath a thin clear plastic film. The one in the center, though, was of her. Standing and leaning against the railing of what appeared to be a back porch. Her hair was bleached blonde and clearly very unhealthy but still tied back into two messy buns on either side of her head. Her white tank top was dirty like it was the third day in a row she had worn it. A red flannel was tied around her waist, hanging behind the oversized jeans that had enormous holes in the knees. A cigarette hung from her lips. Eyeliner was smeared down below her eyes. She flipped the camera off.

He leaned forward to get a better look at the photo. “Holy shit,” he laughed. “Look at that.” His hand held one side of the album while hers held the other. The image of sitting in her sister’s living room on Thanksgiving and looking through that very album was suddenly clear in his mind. At least how he imagined the room would look. Cozy and rustic. She mentioned once that her brother-in-law did a lot of wood working. There would have probably been a roaring fire in the fireplace. Her sister would give her such shit for trying to hide the past. She would sit with her hands over her face complaining. “You were a little punkass.”

“You bet your ass I was,” she agreed over the lip of her bottle. “Another Yin and Yang thing. Jane was all glitter and platform sandals and mini skirts. Someone had to balance her out. So I chose flannels, ripped jeans, and a fuckton of weed.” She sighed with a wistful smile on her face. “Our parents fucking hated it.” The page flipped again. In the top right hand corner of the page, there was a photo of two little girls. Both had heads of curly dark hair and devilish smiles on their faces. Like they were already up to something before they had even started. They both wore striped turtlenecks. The taller of the two had a picture of Eeyore ironed across the chest and stared at the camera with wide brown eyes through her large round glasses. The smaller one simply wore a shirt in colors that reminded him of ice cream. Pale pinks and blues and yellows. She had one eye squeezed shut in an exaggerated wink. Emma’s finger landed on that girl. “That’s me.”

“I guess you’ve always been short then, huh?” She snorted with laughter and shoved his shoulder. A lightness had returned to her face. “This is really cool, Em.”

“Right? I didn’t know… I wouldn’t have thought she had kept this all these years.” She reached for the binder and pulled it closer to her. “I don’t think I’m ready… I think I’m going to keep this one to myself.” A cartoon cheetah stared back at him. _Lisa Frank_ was written out in multicolored bubble letters. “I just--”

“It’s okay. We can share Janis instead.” She looked over at him, biting the inside of her cheek. “I don’t think she’d mind too much.”

“Thanks, Paul.” The grip on the binder opened and closed. Knuckles went white and then back to the normal olive tone they usually held. She glanced over at his lap. “Did you look to see what’s in the bag?”

He shook his head. “Nope, you?” he questioned.

“Nope.” The small green bag sat in her other palm. He fished his out of the pocket of his pajama bottoms--another perk of the pants Emma got him! There was something jingling within. Maybe it was just a really stupid joke and there would just be a handful of pennies inside. “You go first.” He looked over to her. She stared back expectantly.

“Okay,” he agreed as he pulled at the strings of the bag, fully anticipating pennies at this point. But when he emptied the bag into his hand it was a set of three rings. His brows furrowed while he attempted to figure out the meaning behind them. Maybe General McNamara made a mistake. Maybe he picked the wrong thing out of the pile of items in his backseat. He wouldn’t have blamed him. There was a lot of space taken up in the backseat from the brief glimpse he got. It was no mistake, though, as he came to realize. His hand rose to rest just over his mouth. “Oh man.”

The couch dipped below her while she scooted closer to him to examine the rings in his hand. “What?” she prompted. Her hand reached out and grazed the ring that had fallen in the middle of his palm. Three stones. One round diamond with two smaller blue stones (what he believed to be sapphires if memory served him correctly). Intricate carvings into the silver, making it seem as though vines were wrapping around the band and holding the stones in place. “It’s beautiful, but I didn’t take you for a ring kind of guy.”

“They’re… that’s my grandmother’s ring,” he explained. He picked up the smaller silver band. “Also hers and then--” the final ring, a larger band that appeared to be made up of silver vines wrapped in an infinite circle, “--this one belonged to my grandfather.”

Silence wrapped around them. Emotions were running rampant. Between the rings and the photos, there was a lot of unspoken history lingering in the air between them. “Were you close?” she wondered, testing the waters. She wished she could have sat right up next to him, but the cat was planted firmly beside him.

Shrugging, he exhaled heavily. “Not with him,” he told her. “He died when I was twelve. We only really saw them during the summer, but I was close with my grandma. She liked reading and that I was… a big stupid nerd, I guess.”

She gave him a soft grin, nudging his shoulder. “Must run in the family then,” she suggested. He nodded, a sad smile lingering on his face.

“She died a couple years back,” he divulged. The ring turned between his fingers. “She was old. In her nineties I think, but she sort of seemed invincible. She had been tough as nails my whole life. Didn’t let anyone or anything get her. I guess time ended up doing that.”

Her hand reached out, so her fingers could run gently along his neck. “Well,” she started, not sure where she was going to go with her statement. “I guess something gets all of us in the end. Cars, time, sickness… fucking aliens, which is just… goddamn wild to me.” He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Her eyes creased with another smile dedicated just to him. “You’ve just got to do the best with what you’ve got going on now, I guess.” She tugged at the strings of her bag. “Here.” Reaching in, she took her turn to furrow her brows, pulling out a ring of her own. A gold band. Small green stone. She swallowed down hard, presumably with a lump rising in her throat. She struggled to keep the smile on instead. “Holy shit.” He tried to hide the disappointment on his face. It was Jane’s ring. The one she used to wear. Every day since last Christmas, she had worn the ring he had gotten her. Now that the original was back, there wasn’t any need for his. “Look at that! McNamara apparently used his magic to find this.”

“I guess so.”

The ring slipped over the middle finger opposite the one that held his ring. She held up her hands, backs facing him. “Look at that,” she announced. “Now it’s fucking even. I can get into that shit.” He smiled with one hand on Janis. The other clenched itself into a fist with his grandparents’ wedding rings still in his palm. “Past.” She shook the hand with Jane’s ring. “Future.” His ring. 

“Future, huh?” Hearing her say it made his heart race in his chest. Like when his crush would talk to him in the sixth grade. Even just in passing. It was something that excited him in a way he couldn’t describe. Thrilling and a little unreal. When she nodded and then shrugged, his stomach did flips. Like when he would see she was working at Beanies. Like when she asked him what his name was. Like when she told him hers. “Did you know we’re married?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Well, Kelly and Ben,” he clarified, sliding the rings back into the bag. He gazed down at Janis as he scratched behind her ears. “I found a marriage certificate a couple days ago when I was unpacking those boxes and filing stuff away in that empty bedroom.”

“Hmm… married?”

“Yep.”

“You and me?”

“Kelly and Ben.”

“Same fucking thing, Paul,” she said. The slight smile was still on her lips surprisingly. “Do you want to be married to me, Paul?” His face burned red. That was not where he was trying to go with bringing this up. To be fair, though, he didn’t know what his point was with it. She just implied that he was a part of her future, and that’s all he could think of. What do you want, Paul? He still wasn’t fully positive of what he wanted for the entirety of his life, but she sure was one of the big things he knew he wanted. “That looks like a yes.”

“What? No!”

“No?” She tilted her head to the side, biting back laughter when his eyes went wide. “So you don’t want that?”

“No! No, I… I don’t know! This feels like a loaded question!” he blabbered.

“I’m fucking with you, dingus.” He let his head fall onto the back of the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. Her hand was cool against his face as her fingers trailed up his cheek and through his hair. He peeked one eye open. The expression on her face was full of fondness and warmth. Like something he had known his whole life. Like coming home after a long trip. “Oh man, I like you.” She took a sip of her beer. “Don’t forget that even when I’m giving you shit.” 

Tipping her bottle back again, she squished her face with displeasure when she found it was empty. She placed the empty bottle on the coffee table and reached out to grab his. “Hey, that was mine,” he whined.

Once again, she shrugged. “Looked like you needed help,” she stated simply, a hint of a smirk hiding behind the bottle that was back up against her lips.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?” He closed his eyes again. She had told him that she loved him one early morning just as the sun was coming up. Orange and blue painted the dim sky. The sun poked up over the horizon, cutting through the trees. Shadows of pines danced down on the grass that was just starting to turn green again. She had told him that she loved him, but he wasn’t sure how to say it back. He had imagined that moment many times. Every time played out differently. Mostly they were just him getting out some grand gesture of affection. Showing just how much his heart felt for her. But in that moment, everything tensed up. He thought about the moment Alice called him and told him that Deb told her she loved her. How Charlotte would barely choke out an _I love you_ over the phone when her piece of shit husband called up. How Ted just barely lit up when Charlotte walked into the room but would turn away quickly before anyone noticed. The guilt overcame him. She had looked down at him and allowed her fingertips to dance over his cheekbone. _“It’s okay if you don’t. Just thought you should know. Everything’s so fucking fleeting. You never know what’s going to happen, and I think I would’ve been fucking pissed at myself if I didn’t say anything. God fucking forbid another apocalypse hits, which would suck in and of itself, but still.”_

He glanced over to her. “Yeah, I do,” he confirmed.

“Oh shit, you said it. Now, you have to be married to me, motherfucker.”

“Emma, come on.” She stood up, bending over to scoop Janis up into her arms. The cat stretched in protest, but once Emma was settled in Paul’s lap with the cat curled between them, Janis couldn’t protest too much. “Okay.”

“This is it, bud. Better get goddamn used to it.”

His arm fell around her back. The cat purred against his chest. She pressed a kiss against his neck. “Okay,” he laughed lightly, leaning his head on top of hers. A moment of softness in the midst of guilt and sadness and anger. He wished this could have happened back home. Well, back in Hatchetfield. He couldn’t say that it was necessarily home any longer. He didn’t know where home was. All he really wanted was to have a normal life with her. Go through the normal motions with their real names. Travel. Meet each other’s friends. Fucking visit her at that terrible coffee shop. Steal a kiss over the counter while the boss looks away. Talk about her at work with a slight smile on his face the whole time.

She nuzzled into his neck, almost as if she was going to kiss his skin again. Maybe she would fall asleep right there, tucked under his chin. She took a deep breath in. “Okay?” she puffed, which turned into a bout of laughter. Another joke at his expense. 

Rolling his eyes, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss into her hair. “God, I hate you,” he muttered.

“Oh, fat fucking chance, you dweeb.”

He sighed, staring down into the playful brown eyes that were looking back at him. He couldn’t even fucking pretend. “Yeah, I know.”

“Well, good. Because I’d be really fucking bummed if I loved you and you hated me… because I do. I love you… Paul. Not Ben. I think Ben is into some weird shit and might be a douche.”

“I won’t tell him. Secret’s safe with me.” She narrowed her eyes at him. The gentle smile hit his lips. “But yeah, I love you, too. Emma… Kelly. Whatever part of you. I love you.”

“Fucking good because you definitely drank my spit, and it feels a lot better knowing that there are feelings there rather than you just being some stranger I live with you just swapped spit with me. Good think I didn’t have mono either because that would’ve--”

“God dammit, Emma.”

“ _What?_ It’s _true.”_

“I’m going to double down on what I said before: you’re lucky I love you.”

She rolled her eyes at him again. “Yeah, yeah.” An arm wrapped around his neck, pulling him down carefully as not to squish the cat in between them. She pecked his lips, getting a snort out of him. He pulled back from her, so he could peer down at her once more. Her eyes searched his face. Like she was skimming over his face to find the words she wanted to use. “But also I guess I kind of fucking am.”

And that’s when it hit him. This house wasn’t his home. Neither was his old house. Or even back in Hatchetfield. It wasn’t back with his parents or grandparents. Or even with Bill and Alice. Even when some of those places came close, it never quite clicked. There was always some missing link. However, this crabby little former barista in his lap, scratching at his newly found cat, was exactly it. This was how he always imagined home feeling. Like it was filled with love. Something he never got to see with his parents’ empty marriage or Bill’s soul-crushing divorce or Ted and Charlotte’s stolen glances across the office. No, it was like this. It was comfortable. It was like placing the last puzzle piece in a ten thousand piece puzzle. Something almost electric and exciting. But always comfortable. Like a warm cup of coffee on a cold morning or getting into bed with fresh sheets. She was familiar even when she wasn’t. Like someone he had known forever. When they sat together in the fortress basement, it felt he was just trying to comfort his best friend. Maybe that’s what she was now. When there was talk about them being separated, he had been crushed inside, but then she swooped in. His heart soared in response. She was like picking up his favorite book. He could just read her again and again and again. The same story never got boring. There were always new things to discover hidden between the lines.

Somewhere along the line, his heart found a safe spot to nestle into in her.

Somewhere along the line, the house that belonged to Kelly and Ben felt more like it was Paul and Emma’s.

Somewhere along the line, she became home.


End file.
